THE  MAKING 

OF  A  COUNTRY 

HOME 

BY 

J.P.MOWBRAY 


NEW  VORK 

DOUBLEDAY  PAGE  AND  Co, 
*      3       o      9 


COPYRIGHT,  1901,  BY 
JOHN   WANAMAKER. 

COPYRIGHT,  1901,  BY 
DOUBLEDAY,   PAGE  &  CO. 


OCTOBER,  1901. 


J.  S.  CiwJun*  *.p,ol-  Berwick  A  Smith 
Norwood  Masi.  U.S.A. 


PREFACE 

THE  story  told  in  this  book  claims  only  to  be 
the  record  of  an  ordinary  man's  experience  and 
success  in  his  efforts  to  make  a  home  for  himself 
in  the  country. 

It  was  believed  by  the  writer  that  it  would  be 
a  merit  to  keep  the  narrative  as  close  as  possible 
to  actual  facts,  and  not  avail  himself  of  any  more 
romance  than  usually  falls  to  the  lot  of  an  ordi 
nary  and  thrifty  man,  who  perhaps  is  often  a 
good  deal  of  a  hero,  though  he  is  himself  hardly 
aware  of  it,  and  is  not  usually  celebrated  in 
literature. 

If  there  are  any  small  recompenses  in  this 
humble  hero's  endeavours  growing  out  of  the 
everyday  facts  of  life,  and  his  task  is  lit  by  some 
homely  but  enduring  gleams,  the  book  may 
encourage  and  stimulate  other  ordinary  men  who 
have  the  capacity  to  long  for  a  home.  Such  is 
the  hope  as  well  as  the  purpose  of  the  author. 


/* 


CHAPTER  I 

Page 
Castles  in  the  Air    ....         .         .         •          •          i 

CHAPTER  II 

The  Search  .  .  .  V  .  ...  -33 

CHAPTER  III 

The  Householder  .  .  .  .  .  .  5  6 

CHAPTER   IV 
On  Her  Own  Threshold  .  .          .          .        79 

CHAPTER    V 
The  Incipient  Garden       .          »         .         .          •         «      100 

CHAPTER   VI 
The  Day  of  Small  Things 121 

CHAPTER   VII 

In  Which  John  Entertains  Angels  Unawares          .          .142 

vii 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER   VIII 

In  Which  the  Tempter  Enters   . 

CHAPTER   IX 
The  Raising  of  the  Roof  .... 

CHAPTER   X 
Recompense  .          .         «         .         » 

CHAPTER   XI 

Winter's  Warnings  and  Discomforts    . 

CHAPTER   XII 
Conclusion     ..... 


Page 
.       I63 


.       I83 


204 


.        222 


243 


DESIGNS    BY 

CHAS.  EDW.    HOOPERS 


Vlll 


The  Making  of  a  Country 
Home 


CHAPTER   I 

CASTLES    IN    THE    AIR 

MR.  JOHN  DENNISON  lived  in  the 
large  flat  house,  The  Marmontelle,  on 
Fifty-eighth  Street.  He  had  lived  there 
two  years ;  that  is,  ever  since  he  had  married  the 
girl  of  his  choice,  who  was  then  Lucy  Raymond. 
He  was  superintendent  in  the  large  wholesale 
establishment  of  Clayton  &  Deems,  very  far 
down  town,  and  he  was  accepted  in  his  own  small 
circle  of  friends  as  a  well-fixed  and  promising 
young  man,  capable  of  supporting  a  genteel 
establishment;  who  dressed  his  wife  well,  and 
entertained  his  friends  with  comfortable  if  not 


MAKING  OF  A  COUNTRY   HOME 

elegant  hospitality.  In  other  words,  John  Den- 
nison  was  one  of  several  thousand  young  men  in 
the  great  city  who  earn  a  salary  of  two  thousand 
four  hundred  a  year,  by  the  exercise  of  routine 
fidelity,  and  manage  to  enjoy  life  as  they  go  along. 
Most  of  his  friends  were  men  of  the  same  status, 
who  had  given  up  many  of  their  early  ambitions 
and  had  adjusted  themselves  easily  to  that  kind 
of  commercial  life  in  which  there  is  little  more 
than  an  assured  competence  or  a  comfortable 
drudgery. 

But  John  Dennison  at  the  end  of  two  years 
had  grown  slightly  restless  in  his  mind  at  the 
prospect.  If  the  truth  could  be  known,  this 
restlessness  probably  sprang  from  the  cradle 
wherein  his  first-born  was  very  daintily  tucked  up 
in  laces.  John  possessed  something  of  an  imagi 
native  mind,  which,  of  all  things  in  the  world,  is 
the  most  superfluous  and  distressing  endowment 
for  the  superintendent  of  a  large  importing  house. 
He  probably  inherited  from  his  New  England 
father  what  we  call  a  constructive  talent.  He 
was  always  fashioning  things  just  a  little  ahead  of 
the  prosaic  duties  that  ought  to  have  satisfied  him 
when  he  became  the  possessor  of  a  wife  and  baby. 

He  was  within  a  year  of  being  thirty,  and 
twenty  years  more  of  getting  on  the  car  at  seven 
in  the  morning  and  climbing  back  at  five  in  the 
evening,  going  to  the  same  cosey  room,  kissing 
his  wife  and  baby  in  the  same  way,  paying  the 
same  three-fourths  of  his  salary  to  the  landlord, 
the  grocer,  and  the  tailor,  and  nursing  a  contented 

2 


CASTLES   IN   THE   AIR 

mind  by  going  to  the  Central  Park  on  Sunday 
morning  and  the  theatre  on  Wednesday  night  — 
this  prospect,  he  was  beginning  to  feel  sure,  would 
become  intolerable  in  twenty  years  more.  But 
there  was  no  escape  from  it.  He  had  fixed  his 
lot,  and  he  must  take  things  as  they  came,  and,  if 
possible,  manage  to  squeeze  out  enough  to  keep 
up  appearances  and  his  life  insurance  —  in  case  he 
should  make  a  misstep  some  night  in  jumping 
for  an  electric  car. 

Oddly  enough  John  Dennison  did  not  have  the 
comfortable  mental  equipment  that  settles  down 
passively  under  these  conditions.  He  was  more 
and  more  convinced,  as  he  thought  about  it,  that 
he  was  not  getting  all  that  a  faithful  drudge  is 
entitled  to  in  this  life.  He  was  not  only  not 
storing  up  any  power,  but  the  joys  that  he  was 
seizing  on  the  way  were  beginning  to  leave  an 
unpleasant  taste  in  his  mouth.  He  had  thought 
this  over  for  several  months  ;  figured  it  this  way 
and  that  in  his  own  mind,  without  saying  anything 
to  his  wife,  but  at  last  he  arrived  at  something 
like  a  conclusion.  He  came  home  one  night  in 
the  early  spring,  looking  a  little  more  tired  than 
usual,  and  his  wife  met  him  in  the  hallway  when 
he  got  off  the  elevator.  She  began  at  once  :  — 

"  My  dear,  Kate  Ellis  came  over  this  afternoon 
and  insisted  that  we  should  join  her  and  Wesley 
at  dinner.  They  have  found  a  new  restaurant. 
I've  forgotten  where  it  is,  but  it  is  in  some  out- 
of-the-way  place,  and  is  all  the  go." 

Her  husband  pushed  the  hair  off  her  forehead 
3 


MAKING   OF   A   COUNTRY   HOME 

and  kissed  her.  "  You  did  not  promise  them,  I 
hope." 

"  No  —  not  positively.  I  told  her  not  to  wait 
for  us ;  perhaps  you  would  not  feel  like  going 
out." 

"Thanks.  I  don't.  I'd  rather  spend  the 
evening  with  you.  I  detest  all  restaurants, 
and  new  ones  especially.  The  perfidiousness  of 

the  food  is  regulated  by  the  popularity  of  the 

i       » 
place. 

She  looked  pleased.  "  Do  you  feel  economical 
or  tired,  dear  ?  " 

"  Both." 

"Then  we'll  eat  our  own  dinner.  Only  one 
course,  and  that  is  restful.  I  was  afraid  you'd 
say  yes,  and  I'd  have  to  dress." 

They  went  into  the  rooms,  and  John,  with  care 
less  haste,  made  his  way  direct  to  a  cradle,  and 
pulling  away  the  coverlet,  began  rubbing  his 
mustache  over  something  pink  and  warm,  which 
responded  with  a  cry. 

"  Now  I  hope  you're  satisfied,"  said  his  wife. 
"  You  had  to  wake  him  up,  and  I've  been  the  last 
half-hour  getting  him  to  sleep." 

"  The  idea  of  your  packing  him  out  of  sight 
just  as  I  arrive  !  " 

Whereupon  he  dug  out  the  pink  bundle  and 
went  up  and  down  the  room,  playing  a  risky  game 
of  pitch-and-toss  with  it,  and,  it  being  a  remark 
ably  good-natured  bundle,  quickly  adapted  itself 
to  the  loss  of  its  nap,  and  after  one  or  two  rolls  of 
the  lip  and  watery  stare  of  blue  eyes,  was  tied  in 

4 


CASTLES   IN   THE   AIR 

a  baby's  chair  at  the  table,  where  it  could  clutch 
at  the  sugar  bowl  impotently,  and  John,  slippered 
and  smoking-jacketed,  sat  down  to  his  dinner  in 
their  little  dining  room. 

"What  are  those?."  he  asked  immediately, 
pointing  with  his  fork  to  a  dish  in  the  middle  of 
the  table.  "  They  look  like  birds.  You  don't 
call  that  economy  ?  " 

"  You  shall  find  out  for  yourself.  I  felt  extrav 
agant  and  wanted  to  surprise  you." 

He  fell  to  eating  with  a  good  zest,  for  he  was 
young  and  hearty,  but  his  incidental  attention  to 
the  baby,  who  had  to  throw  the  napkin-rings  and 
spoons  on  the  floor,  seriatim,  and  needed  a  con 
stant  supply,  occupied  so  much  of  his  time,  that 
his  wife  waited  in  vain  for  the  expected  burst  of 
delight  over  her  dish,  and  instead  of  drinking  the 
cup  of  tea  she  had  poured  out,  and  which  was 
steaming  in  front  of  her  —  for  this  little  meal  was 
a  humble  compromise  of  the  city  dinner  and 
the  country  tea  —  she  sat  watching  her  husband, 
having  already  detected  something  unusual  in  his 
mood. 

She  was  probably  twenty-six  years  old ;  that 
is,  about  three  years  younger  than  John.  She 
was  that  kind  of  girl  who  makes  the  discovery 
that  she  is  pretty  to  only  one  man  in  the  world, 
the  rest  of  the  world  being  content  to  take  his 
estimate  of  her  to  avoid  argument ;  but  at  odd 
times  it  must  have  been  momentarily  apparent  to 
the  rest  of  the  world  that  John  had  the  clearer 
vision,  for  she  had  that  curious  quality  of  flaring 

5 


MAKING   OF  A   COUNTRY   HOME 

up  suddenly  into  decided  attractiveness,  where 
upon  some  of  her  most  intimate  female  friends 
would  remark,  with  a  little  display  of  that  fine 
consideration  for  their  own  sex  which  they  keep 
in  reserve,  "  Lucy  isn't  such  a  bad-looking  girl, 
after  all,"  and  this  always  gave  occasion  to  one  or 
two  domestic  cynics  of  the  other  sex  to  fire  off 
their  reserve  shot,  and  remark  with  all  the  subtle 
irony  of  convenient  commonplace,  "  Ah,  madame, 
handsome  is  as  handsome  does.  Mrs.  Dennison 
is  a  pearl."  It  being,  as  Mrs.  Johnson  observed, 
a  domestic  cynic's  notion  that  the  ideal  woman  is 
secreted  in  the  dark,  according  to  the  law  of  oys- 
terdom. 

Mrs.  Dennison's  photographs  lacked  many  of 
the  seductive  qualities  that  make  men  tack  them 
up  at  the  head  of  their  beds  and  keep  them  in 
anonymous  albums.  According  to  St.  Gaudens 
her  mouth  was  too  large,  and  her  nose  had  none 
of  the  rectitude  of  a  Greek  profile.  At  first  sight, 
and  unadorned,  you  set  her  down  as  one  of  those 
divine  soubrettes  in  life's  drama  who  are  apt  to 
make  things  merry.  As  her  husband  had  once 
remarked  with  an  entirely  new  admiration,  she  was 
evidently  made  for  business.  But  it  was  noticeable 
that  those  who  knew  her  best  grew  to  like  her  large 
mouth.  It  was  what  her  uncle,  the  dominie,  had 
called  the  "  Os  magna  soniturum"  and  then  mis 
translated,  as  the  mouth  made  for  great  laughs. 
As  for  her  slightly  snub  nose,  well,  somehow  that 
seemed,  on  a  better  acquaintance,  to  be  a  thor 
oughly  human  affair  that  was  always  trying  to 

6 


CASTLES   IN   THE   AIR 

imitate,  in  its  static  way,  the  inimitable  sauciness 
and  cock  of  her  head. 

"  Well,"  she  said,  "  why  don't  you  say  some 
thing  about  my  rare  dish  ?  " 

Thus  called  to  a  proper  sense  of  his  duty,  John 
broke  out  heedlessly.  "  Why,  it's  simply  stun 
ning.  What  the  deuce  is  it,  anyway  ?  You  got 
it  at  the  French  cook-shop,  of  course  ? " 

"  No,  I  didn't.  I  bought  it  at  the  pork-butch 
er's.  It  cost  me  thirty-five  cents.  It's  common 
pork  tenderloin.  But  I  stuffed  it  with  chopped 
green  pepper  and  mushrooms  and  a  bit  of  celery, 
and  baked  and  basted  it  till  my  face  was  as  red  as 
a  beet,  and  I  don't  believe  you  would  have  said  a 
word  if  I  hadn't  prompted  you." 

John  had  that  ordinary  and  vital  sense  of  hu 
mour  which  is  apt  to  take  the  direction  of  exag 
geration.  He  lay  back  in  his  chair  and  pretended 
to  be  half  paralyzed. 

"  Pork  tenderloins  !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  Well, 
you  are  a  Banshee.  Do  you  know,  I  believe  you 
could  make  tripe  ambrosial,  and  set  cabbage  on 
a  pinnacle  if  you  gave  your  mind  to  it.  Have 
you  got  any  more  ?  I  feel  like  Caesar.  The 
appetite  which  you  have  created  grows  upon  that 
which  feeds  it." 

"  No  more.  You  have  eaten  the  whole  of  it. 
There  were  only  two." 

"  Except  what  you  ate  yourself.  I  gave  you 
one." 

"  And  I  put  it  back  while  you  were  playing 
with  the  baby  —  cannibal." 

7 


MAKING   OF  A   COUNTRY   HOME 

He  became  suddenly  serious.  "Lucy,"  said 
he,  after  a  pause,  "  do  you  know,  your  possibilities 
scare  me  sometimes,  I'm  such  a  humdrum  brute, 
and  getting  more  so  every  day." 

"  But  please  don't  let  the  baby  throw  that  tea 
cup  on  the  floor  and  smash  it.  My  mother  gave 
me  that  set,  and  I  can't  replace  it." 

He  moved  the  tea-cup  away  mechanically,  but 
he  was  thinking  of  something  else. 

"  You  were  worried  when  you  came  in,"  said 
his  wife.  "  What  is  it  ?  " 

"  You,"  he  answered,  as  he  got  up  and  began 
poking  about  on  the  mantel  for  his  cigar. 

"  Oh,  come,  don't  jolly  me.  Out  with  it. 
What  has  happened  ?  " 

"  You  don't  mind  if  I  smoke  in  here  ?  " 

"No,  dear,  but  the  baby,  remember " 

He  laid  the  cigar  down  submissively,  and  com 
ing  back  to  his  chair,  said,  with  some  little  appar 
ent  effort,  "  Lucy,  does  it  ever  occur  to  you  when 
you  get  tired  that  we  made  a  mistake  in  getting 
married  ?  " 

She  could  not  hide  a  look  of  astonishment,  but 
she  did  not  answer  directly.  She  stared  and  said, 
"  Well  ? " 

"  Don't  misunderstand  me.  I  should  have  said 
/  made  a  mistake." 

"  Oh — h  !  "  from  the  little  woman's  mouth,  a 
curiously  elongated  and  indefinite  monosyllable ; 
and  then  her  husband  might  have  seen,  if  he  had 
been  in  an  observant  mood,  what  a  fine  agreement 
there  was  between  her  nose  and  the  set  of  her 

8 


CASTLES   IN   THE   AIR 

head,  together  reminding  one  of  a  hair-trigger  that 
only  needs  one  more  touch  to  go  off. 

"  Yes,"  he  went  on,  "  I  am  older  than  you,  and 
ought  to  have  caught  the  lesson  of  life,  which  is 
plainly  written  for  such  fellows  as  I  am  —  before 
taking  the  fatal  leap.  It's  the  commonest  kind 
of  smartness  for  a  man  who  has  a  race  to  run,  to 
win  his  goal  before  he  handicaps  himself — with  a 
wife  and  a  baby." 

"  And  what  put  this  belated  rubbish  into  your 
head,  my  dear  ?  "  asked  Lucy. 

"  You,"  he  said.  "  Two  years  and  a  half  ago, 
when  I  put  the  bonds  upon  you,  you  were  brim 
ful  of  a  girl's  rosiest  dreams.  I  caught  all  my 
sense  of  the  beautiful  in  God's  world  from  you. 
You  sang  and  painted  and  danced  and  dreamed, 
and  I  took  you  out  of  your  throbbing  exultant 
life,  and  shut  you  up  in  this  canal-boat,  where 
there  is  no  present  chance  of  escape.  A  man 
ought  to  be  hanged  for  less." 

This  time  she  said  "  Oh !  "  with  an  altogether 
different  intonation,  as  if  she  felt  relieved,  and  he 
plunged  ahead. 

"  Do  you  remember  that  day  you  came  home 
from  Holyoke  ?  I  can  tell  you  exactly  how  you 
were  dressed,  my  dear,  from  your  saucy  leghorn 
hat  to  your  stout  little  boots,  and  that  alligator 
belt  with  a  bunch  of  Marguerites  stuck  in  it. 
You  thought  there  wasn't  anything  good  enough 
for  you  in  this  world.  And  you  were  right. 
You  came  fresh  out  of  the  pure  air  and  brought 
some  of  it  with  you.  Do  you  remember,  my 

9 


MAKING   OF  A   COUNTRY   HOME 

dear,  my  sentimental  verses  in  which  I  called  you 
c  rainy-sweet  and  blossom-glad  '  ?  " 

His  wife  was  listening,  and  there  was  a  little 
water  in  her  eyes.  He  was  brute  enough  to  re 
mind  her  of  what  she  no  longer  was.  Woman 
like,  she  was  saying  to  herself  with  the  rapidity 
of  lightning,  "  I  must  be  red  with  standing  over 
the  stove.  I  am  not  as  fresh  as  I  once  was.  It 
must  be  a  disappointment  to  a  man."  What  she 
managed  to  say  to  him  was :  — 

"  I  know,  I  know,  John.  I  am  no  longer  a 
schoolgirl  with  Marguerites.  I  wish  I  might  be 
for  your  sake." 

He  stared  at  her  with  surprise,  and  seeing  the 
water  in  her  eyes  which  she  was  vainly  endeav 
ouring  to  hide,  something  of  his  blunt  cruelty 
occurred  to  him,  and  getting  up  so  suddenly  that 
he  upset  the  chair  and  frightened  the  baby,  who 
began  to  cry,  he  came  and  put  his  arm  tenderly 
around  his  wife's  neck. 

"  Little  woman,"  he  said,  "  your  feelings  have 
gone  off  in  the  wrong  direction,  I  swear  it.  I 
didn't  remind  you  of  that  happy  day  when  we 
came  from  Holyoke  because  you  have  lost  any 
thing,  but  because  you  have  grown  so  much  more 
beautiful  and  sacred  as  a  wife  and  mother  than 
such  a  brute  as  I  could  hope  for ;  and  I  am  be 
ginning  to  feel  like  the  thief  who  stole  the  fire 
From  heaven  and  was  then  chained  to  a  rock  for 
it.  There  was  such  a  scoundrel  in  mythology, 
wasn't  there  ? " 

She  wiped  her  eyes.  "Take  your  cigar  and 
10 


CASTLES   IN    THE   AIR 

go  in  the  sitting  room,  dear.  You  have  fright 
ened  the  baby.  I  will  come  there  in  a  few 
moments." 

He  shut  the  sitting  room  door  and  walked  up 
and  down  while  he  smoked.  He  was  now  in 
that  mood  when  trifles  make  a  new  appeal  to  the 
sense.  He  looked  at  Lucy's  plants  in  the  little 
bay,  and  thought  how  she  had  watched  and 
coaxed  them  along,  and  how  they  withered  in 
the  gas,  in  spite  of  her.  There  was  the  prickly 
pear  that  Colonel  Wallace  had  brought  her  from 
Arizona,  and  she  had  watered  it  to  death,  killing 
it  with  too  much  kindness,  so  that  it  was  now 
yellow  and  shrivelled.  He  stood  a  moment  in 
front  of  the  little  picture  that  she  had  painted  in 
the  Berkshire  Hills.  It  was  very  crude  and  raw, 
but  he  had  put  a  ten-dollar  frame  on  it,  and  was 
ready  to  kill  any  man  who  said  it  was  not  equal 
to  a  Corot.  There  was  her  neglected  easel  in  the 
corner,  with  her  old  leghorn  hat  hanging  on  a 
peg  of  it,  which  gave  a  reckless  artistic  flourish 
to  the  room.  She  caught  him  looking  at  it 
when  she  came  softly  in  and  shut  the  door. 

"Don't  talk  too  loudly,"  she  said,  "or  you 
will  wake  Harold." 

"  I've  been  thinking  about  our  affairs  for  some 
days,"  he  began,  "  and  I  get  restless  and  discour 
aged  at  times." 

"  If  anything  has  happened,"  she  said,  "  you 
ought  to  tell  me  just  what  it  is." 

"  Nothing  has  happened,  I  assure  you  —  noth 
ing  is  likely  to  happen.  It  is  the  leaden  un- 

II 


MAKING   OF   A   COUNTRY   HOME 

likeliness  that  weighs  on  me.  Some  of  the 
unemployed  faculties  have  not  yet  grown  numb 
with  the  dead  pressure  of  this  life." 

There  was  a  coal  fire  in  the  grate.  She  gave 
it  one  or  two  pokes  as  if  to  gain  time  and  make 
up  her  mind  how  to  meet  this  mood.  Then  she 
sat  down  in  a  low  rocker,  looking  very  receptive 
and  passive  in  her  plain  but  becoming  wrapper, 
and  gazed  meditatively  and  expectantly  into  the 
fire.  All  she  said  was :  "  You  would  have  felt 
better,  John,  if  we  had  gone  out  to  dinner.  You 
need  a  change/' 

"  I'm  very  glad  I  did  not  go,"  said  John. 
"  I'd  rather  talk  to  you  than  listen  to  Wesley 
and  his  wife  the  whole  evening.  I  see  the 
papers  are  beginning  to  advertise  the  Easter 
goods." 

"  Did  you  notice  that  ?     It's  not  like  you." 

"  Oh,  it  reminded  me  of  an  Easter  only  two 
years  ago.  I  noticed  this  morning  while  I  was 
dressing  that  the  sun  had  got  round  on  the  wall 
to  your  picture.  I  can  tell  when  Easter's  near, 
by  that,  without  looking  in  the  papers." 

"  But  what  makes  you  give  it  that  melancholy 
turn  ?  Something  has  happened,  John,  and  you 
are  beating  about  the  bush." 

"  No  —  nothing  happens,  that's  the  curse  of 
it  —  except " 

"  What  ? " 

"  That  I  shall  get  to  be  a  disappointed  drudge 
and  you  a  domestic  slave,  accommodating  our 
selves,  without  a  kick,  to  the  dull  inevitable, 

12 


CASTLES   IN   THE   AIR 

with  all  the  sunshine  and  song  squeezed  out  of 
us.  I  think  a  man  feels  this  as  a  premonition 
more  keenly  when  Easter  approaches.  That's 
what  I  meant,  my  dear,  by  saying  that  a  man 
ought  to  reach  his  goal  before  he  takes  a  wife, 
for  the  more  he  loves  her  the  more  of  a  handicap 
she  is.  Don't  you  see  that  ?  " 

"  No.     I  don't  see  it  at  all." 

"  But  you  understand  that  he  will  not  take 
any  risk  when  he  is  married ;  would  rather  plod 
securely  than  conquer  at  his  peril.  I  ought  to 
have  made  a  home  fit  for  such  a  wife  as  I  have 
before  I  married  her." 

Then  she  laughed  one  of  her  copious,  mellow 
laughs.  "  I  think  you  have  got  that  wrong, 
John,  upon  my  word  I  do.  Homes  do  not  pro 
duce  wives  or  lead  up  to  them.  It's  just  the 
other  way,  it  seems  to  me.  The  wives  produce 
the  homes.  Young  men,  as  I  understand  it, 
think  just  about  as  much  of  making  a  home  be 
fore  they  get  a  wife,  as  they  think  about  making 
a  flying  trip  to  the  moon.  Why,  it  would  be 
just  too  ridiculous,  John,  to  see  a  young  man 
building  a  home  and  furnishing  it,  and  then  ex 
pecting  a  wife  and  baby  to  drop  in  because  it's 
ready,  as  the  wrens  do.  You  know  yourself  you 
never  would  have  had  a  home  like  this  if  you 
hadn't  got  married.  How  could  you  ?  " 

"  Do  you  call  this  a  home  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  suppose  I  have  entertained  some 
such  idea  when  you  were  in  a  good  humour. 
What  do  you  call  it  ?  " 


MAKING   OF   A   COUNTRY   HOME 

"A  stopping-place.  Have  you  really  let  your 
mind  settle  down  comfortably  to  this  canal- 
boat  ? " 

"  I  suppose  I  have.  My  mind  is  of  that 
order  which  is  said  to  be  a  continual  feast.  Per 
haps  by  a  liberal  construction  it  may  mean  a 
mind  given  to  the  providing  of  continual  feasts 
over  a  hot  stove." 

He  passed  this  sly  allusion  over  and  went  on 
with  his  own  theme. 

"  It  isn't  the  kind  of  home,  Lucy,  that  my 
girl  from  Holyoke  saw  in  her  dreams  and  tried 
to  paint,  and  that  I  ought  to  have  made  possible 
for  her  —  a  world  of  her  own,  of  sunshine  and 
freedom  and  flowers  and  abiding  security.'* 

"  But,  John,  you  couldn't  possibly  realize  a 
world  by  yourself.  You  were  only  a  hemi 
sphere." 

He  stopped  walking  and  looked  at  her  inquir 
ingly.  The  idea  of  his  being  a  hemisphere  had 
certainly  never  occurred  to  him  before.  To  the 
spheroidal  masculine  mind,  slightly  flattened  at 
the  poles,  it  sounded  like  an  epithet  and  a  dep 
rivation. 

"  No,"  he  said.  "  I'm  not  a  hemisphere.  Hemi 
spheres  do  not  kick." 

He  pulled  out  a  ready  pad  and  pencil.  He 
always  did  when  the  commercial  instinct  sug 
gested  a  shield.  "  Look  here,  let's  be  practical," 
he  said.  "  We  have  paid  out  twelve  hundred 
dollars  for  this  flat  in  two  years.  What  have  you 
got  to  show  for  it  ?  If  we  live  in  this  or  some 

»4 


CASTLES   IN    THE   AIR 

other  equivalent  canal-boat  till  that  boy  is  twenty- 
one,  somebody  will  walk  off  with  "  —  he  stopped 
to  figure  a  moment  —  "with  twelve  thousand  six 
hundred  dollars  of  our  money.  Do  I  talk  like 
a  practical  man  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  you  do,  John  "  (very  demurely), 
"but  it  seems  to  me,  and  you  know  I'm  not  at 
all  practical,  that  it  sounds  very  much  like  a  dis 
contented  pendulum." 

"  Well,  by  thunder,  a  man  ought  to  be  dis 
contented  when  he  becomes  a  pendulum  and 
swings  up  and  down  twice  a  day  across  this  island, 
year  after  year." 

"  But  he  makes  the  works  go,  John  —  when 
there  is  a  balance-wheel.  Isn't  that  what  they 
call  it  ?  " 

"  You  see,"  said  John,  "  how  marriage  takes 
the  sand  out  of  a  man.  If  I  was  unmarried  you 
couldn't  hold  my  nose  down  to  this.  I'd  make 
some  brilliant  mistakes,  but  I'd  hit  it  in  the  long 
run." 

"Yes,  and  you  would  blow  it  all  in — isn't 
that  the  slang  phrase  ?  —  on  the  next  chance." 

"  I  wonder  if  I  would,"  said  John,  struck  with 
a  reflective  shaft. 

"  Sure,"  said  Lucy  ;  "  you  were  that  reckless." 

"  And  now  I'm  getting  to  be  a  mill-horse.  A 
fine  conservative  old  hack  at  thirty,  with  a  dead- 
level  prospect  of  treadmill  gentility,  lined  with 
landlords  for  the  rest  of  my  life.  Say,  sweet 
heart,  does  it  comfort  you  to  see  all  the  fire  and 
enthusiasm  die  out  of  your  husband  ?  Why, 

15 


MAKING   OF   A   COUNTRY   HOME 

in  five  years  more  I  will  be  like  one  of  those 
travelling  things  on  wires  that  carry  the  money 
back  and  forth  in  the  department  stores.  All 
you  will  have  to  do  will  be  to  stand  beside  your 
family  altar  and  take  the  change  out.  You  will 
not  even  have  to  shout  £  Cash  ! '  which  would  be 
a  great  relief  to  the  shop  girls." 

Then  he  suddenly  went  off  at  another  tangent. 
"  Don't  imagine  that  I  have  any  conceited 
opinion  of  myself.  I'm  just  the  average  man  — 
when  I'm  out  of  your  sight.  There  are  thou 
sands  of  us  in  New  York  who  make  twenty-four 
hundred  a  year.  But  we  never  get  anywhere, 
and  every  year  our  status  is  more  precarious. 
We  are  not  professional  men  who  can  break  over 
their  boundaries  with  genius  and  make  an  orbit 
of  their  own.  We  are  not  skilled  artisans  who 
command  capital  and  are  necessities  of  labour. 
We  are  quasi  business  men,  who  have  given  up 
all  risks  and  chances,  to  drudge  servilely  without 
hope.  But  we  are  genteel." 

"  Why  do  you  say  without  hope  ?  " 
"  Because  the  conditions  of  personal  merit  and 
fidelity  to  an  employer  have  changed  in  our 
time.  So  long  as  our  employers  were  individu 
als  who  trained  and  appreciated  special  fitness  in 
their  employees,  and  kept  their  eyes  on  fidelity, 
smartness,  and  honesty,  we  felt  safe.  It  was  to 
their  interest  to  advance  us.  But  all  that  is 
changing,  passing  into  corporate  irresponsibility 
and  abstract  boss-ship.  Look  at  our  friend 
Warner.  He  was  with  McCook  &  Haverley 

16 


CASTLES   IN   THE   AIR 

ten  years.  He  knew  every  pulse  of  their  busi 
ness  and  managed  his  department  like  clock 
work.  He  was  a  twenty-four-hundred-a-year 
man.  But  the  firm  joined  a  trust,  gave  over  the 
personal  supervision  of  their  business  to  the  new 
brand  of  overseers,  and  the  first  thing  they  did 
was  to  ship  Warner,  and  put  a  fifteen-hundred- 
dollar-a-year  man  in  his  place.  The  agent  said 
that  any  man  could  learn  to  do  in  a  month  what 
Warner  did,  and  if  the  first  man  failed  there  were 
hundreds  of  others  to  pick  from.  That  agent 
looked  Warner's  stock  of  integrity  squarely  in 
the  face  and  remarked:  cWe  propose  to  run 
things  on  business  principles  with  no  sentiment ; 
reduce  expenses  and  increase  profits.  We  esti 
mate  your  worth  at  a  thousand  a  year/  Poor 
Warner.  He  had  four  children,  and  he  had 
been  genteel  up  to  the  full  limit  of  his  twenty- 
four  hundred.  The  agent  said  that  the  corpora 
tion  did  not  propose  to  leave  the  question  of 
fidelity  or  fitness  to  the  individual  ;  they  had  a 
machine  which  insured  it.  Do  you  know  what 
happened  to  Warner  ?  " 

cc  Why,  he  was  your  friend  who  was  killed, 
wasn't  he  ?  " 

"  He  committed  what  the  reckless  fellows  in 
the  Astor  House  rotunda  call  '  hurrycide.'  I 
beg  your  pardon  for  bringing  their  heartlessness 
into  our  sanctuary,  but  Warner  tried  to  jump  for 
an  electric  car,  and  those  fellows  have  a  ghastly 
humour  which  attributes  such  an  act  to  a  man 
who  has  overdrawn  his  accounts,  or  has  played 


MAKING   OF   A   COUNTRY   HOME 

the  tape-line  too  rashly.  But  the  fact  is,  Warner 
suffered  a  kind  of  moral  paralytic  stroke.  He 
couldn't  realize  that  ten  years  of  scrupulous  self- 
sacrificing  attention  to  another  man's  business 
could  end  in  that  way.  It  bothered  him,  and  it 
doesn't  do  for  the  average  man  to  get  bothered 
when  on  Broadway  at  the  rush  hour.  If  he  takes 
his  mind  off  the  brink  for  a  moment,  he  is  gone. 
Poor  Warner  was  probably  thinking  of  his  chil 
dren,  and  the  electric  destroyer  struck  him  on 
the  left  side." 

"  John,"  said  Lucy,  with  just  the  slightest  tone 
of  appeal,  "  I  never  heard  you  talk  in  this  de 
spondent  strain  before.  It  is  really  quite  pessi 
mistic.  Do  the  men  in  the  Astor  House  rotunda 
indulge  in  such  strains  ?  I  feel  quite  sure  that 
something  has  been  said  to  you  that  you  have 
not  told  me." 

John  came  and  sat  down  beside  her  on  a  little 
cushioned  bench  and  took  her  passive  hand. 
"  Pessimist,  my  dear,  is  the  worst  misfit  for  me 
that  you  can  find  in  the  language.  I  was  born 
in  a  rosy  atmosphere.  I  saw  castles  in  the  air 
when  the  rest  of  my  companions  were  making 
mud-pies.  The  aureole  and  I  understood  each 
other  without  words.  I  heard  voices  when  the 
rest  of  the  family  were  asleep.  Good  angels 
came  out  of  the  ideal  world  and  took  me  at  my 
word ;  don't  you  know  that,  you  fatuous,  living 
corroboration  of  it?  It  is  because  I  am  such  a 
bred-in-the-bone  optimist,  with  such  a  compel 
ling  belief  in  the  affluence  and  benignity  of  the 


CASTLES   IN    THE   AIR 

ordained  nature  of  things,  that  I  squirm  and 
growl  and  kick  as  I  find  myself  year  after  year 
robbed  of  them  and  doomed  to  travel  up  and 
down  a  dreary  tramway,  becoming  a  mechanical 
servitor  like  a  dummy-engine,  with  less  sunshine 
and  less  freedom  every  year.  I  call  it  a  prepos 
terous  hand-to-mouth  existence,  and  we  are 
drifting  into  the  fatal  habits  of  Wesley  and  his 
wife,  content  to  snatch  a  few  superficial  excite 
ments  as  we  go  and  call  them  joys." 

His  wife  was  very  patient  under  all  this,  for  a 
high-spirited  little  woman  who  suggested  hair- 
triggers.  She  let  him  run  on  without  contradic 
tion,  and  John  easily  thought  that  he  was  bursting 
upon  her  with  his  views  and  a  large  masculine 
initiative.  Had  he  been  less  of  a  man  and  more 
of  a  woman,  he  would  have  detected  in  the  corner 
of  her  eye  a  nai've  confession  that  she  had  pre 
ceded  him  on  this  same  route  with  less  elocution 
and  a  finer  pensive  reticence,  and  was  coyly 
watching  him  lumbering  up  in  the  same  direc 
tion.  But  it  is  not  in  the  nature  of  a  clever  little 
woman  to  dash  a  man's  spheroidal  sense  of  the 
initiative  by  informing  him  that  she  is  still  "  some 
furlongs  on  before,"  like  his  ideals.  She  only 
got  up  and  went  tip-toeing  to  the  portiere,  and 
peeped  through  a  second,  very  much  as  the 
mate  of  a  vessel  goes  to  his  binnacle  and  then, 
taking  a  look  aloft,  resumes  his  watch. 

"John,  what  was  it  made  all  this  occur  to  you 
to-night  at  the  dinner  table  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.     I  suppose  it  was  the  pork 


MAKING   OF   A   COUNTRY   HOME 

tenderloin.  I  probably  reasoned  unconsciously 
that  a  woman  who  could  convert  pork  tender 
loin  into  woodcock,  would  be  very  apt  to  turn  a 
log-cabin  into  a  palace  of  the  king,  if  she  only 
had  one  of  her  own." 

"  My  dear,  do  you  think  that  you  would  be 
happier  in  a  country  home  ? "  asked  feminine 
directness. 

"It  isn't  a  question  of  my  happiness.  If  you 
suppose  that  I  am  thinking  only  of  my  happi 
ness,  you  do  me  great  injustice.  I  am  sure  that 
you  would  be,  and  that's  enough.  It  is  no  use 
our  trying  to  disguise  to  each  other  that  we  are 
slowly  falling  into  the  careless  life  that  Wesley 
and  his  wife  lead.  It  is  inevitable,  sooner  or 
later,  in  this  environment,  and  I  have  an  old 
patriarchal  instinct  in  me  —  I  don't  know 
whether  I  inherited  it  from  my  Virginia  mother 
or  my  Massachusetts  father,  but  those  antago 
nistic  old  states  reached  their  homes  across  to 
each  other  like  hands,  and  I  instinctively  rebel 
against  canned  life." 

"  Against  what  ?  " 

"  Canned  life.  Domesticity  in  tins.  Every 
joy  embalmed  and  labelled  and  kept  on  a  shelf. 
Duties  in  a  row,  always  needing  the  same  old 
opener  and  all  having  the  same  taste.  Pickled 
surprises,  condensed  amusements,  concentrated 
religion.  The  same  half-pint  of  ready-made 
felicity  if  we  go  out,  and  the  same  quart  of  re 
freshment  if  Wesley  and  his  wife  come  in.  Mod 
ern  conveniences  on  wires.  Immortal  souls  in 

20 


CASTLES   IN   THE   AIR 

model  prisons.  Great  heavens,  Lucy,  think  of 
it ;  blessed  with  such  creative  powers  as  yours, 
capable  of — well,  I  will  not  say  of  making  a 
pudding  in  a  hat,  for  that's  mumbo-jumbo,  but 
of  making  a  pork  tenderloin  into  an  astonisher. 
What  could  not  your  creative  genius  and  magic 
fingers  do  if  we  might  only  jump  off  this  shelf, 
and  live  somewhere  in  the  bounty  and  sunshine 
of  an  uncanned  life  !  " 

"  You  were  always  a  dreamer,  John.  Do  you 
think  it  is  quite  safe  for  a  married  man  to  fool 
with  these  early  visions?  When  one  settles 
down,  there  must  be  some  disappointments,  I 
suppose  —  to  men.  We  cannot  be  schoolgirls 
and  wear  leghorn  hats  and  paint  Marguerites 
after  —  well,  not  after  something  has  happened. 
Wait  till  I  see  if  he  is  awake." 

When  she  reached  the  portiere  and  her  back 
was  turned,  she  added,  "  I  don't  see  how  you 
can  relapse  into  illusions  when  facts  are  so  pre 
cious  and  practical." 

"  Oh,  you're  a  woman,  and  can  only  see  one 
concrete  fact  at  a  time.  I'm  a  man,  and  I  have 
to  take  in  the  whole  future.  You've  only  one 
fact  in  your  eye.  I've  two." 

"  Two  ?      Aren't  you  counting  your  chickens 

"  No.  The  baby  is  so  large  in  your  mind 
that  you  can't  see  yourself.  I  have  you  both 
before  my  eyes.  I  don't  believe  that  the 
youngster  would  have  joined  the  trust  if  he 
could  have  had  anything  to  say  about  it,  and 

21 


MAKING   OF   A   COUNTRY   HOME 

knew  beforehand  that  he  was  to  be  put  on  a 
shelf  in  this  canal-boat,  and  become  a  pendulum 
like  his  father  when  he  grew  up." 

Lucy  laughed,  and  John  began  to  scratch  his 
head  with  his  lead  pencil,  as  if  to  disentangle  his 
metaphors.  Then  he  jumped  up,  and  put  his  arm 
about  his  wife,  and  they  walked  up  and  down  the 
narrow  room  a  moment,  while,  lover-like,  he 
dropped  his  voice  and  poured  out  his  ultimatum 
to  the  little  woman. 

He  had  all  of  the  average  man's  manliness. 
He  was  tall  and  muscular  and  full  of  vital  energy. 
His  hair  was  cut  short  and  showed  his  symmetri 
cal  head  to  good  advantage.  He  carried  it  rather 
defiantly  for  a  commercial  man  and  an  employee. 
In  Lucy's  opinion  he  was  handsome,  for  he  had 
a  clear  dark  eye,  like  an  agate,  a  spare  face  as  of  a 
trained  man,  and  a  very  superlative  mustache ;  so 
the  best  we  can  do  is  to  accept  her  view  of  him. 

"  Look  here,  sweetheart,"  he  said,  "  we've  got 
our  fight  to  make,  and  we  are  not  making  it  to 
the  best  advantage.  All  the  song  has  gone  out 
of  you  and  all  the  dream  out  of  me.  A  man  and 
woman  of  our  build  cannot  toil  buoyantly  unless 
they  see  the  toil  growing  apace  like  a  picture, 
with  present  compensations  of  beauty  and  glad 
ness.  The  reward  must  be  in  the  doing  as  well 
as  in  the  ending.  A  few  years  ago  I  had  a 
knight  errant's  bravado,  sweetheart.  I  stood  on 
my  egotism,  tip-toe,  and  dreamed  things.  Now, 
I  feel  that  aggravated  that  I  want  to  stand  flat- 
footed  and  do  things." 

22 


CASTLES   IN   THE   AIR 

"  And  you  wanted  to  do  them  for  me,  dear  ?  " 

"  Well,  yes,  that's  about  it." 

"  And  you  felt  at  times  that  you  couldn't  be 
cause  you  were  married  ?  " 

"  I  felt  that  I  ought  to  have  done  them  before 
I  got  married." 

"  But  it's  absurd  to  think  of  your  doing  them 
if  you  were  not  married." 

"And  impossible  because  I  am.  That's  the 
confounded  snarl  of  it." 

"  Why  do  you  say  impossible  ?  " 

"  Because  a  wife  is  entitled  to  think  that  they 
ought  to  be  done  before  she  comes  into  the  scheme. 
It  strikes  me  as  somehow  rather  mean  to  rush  a 
girl  into  a  mistake,  and  then  ask  her  to  help  you 
pull  out." 

"  I  should  just  like  to  know  exactly  what  you 
think  women  were  made  for,  anyway,  John  Den- 
nison,  if  not  to  help  pull  men  out  of  difficulties." 

"A  man  will  do  a  great  many  things,"  said 
John,  reflectively,  "  that  he  will  not  ask  a  woman 
to  do." 

"  For  example,"  remarked  Lucy,  and  as  John 
was  thinking  pretty  hard,  she  added:  "What's 
the  use  in  talking  this  way  forever  ?  Why  don't 
you  plump  it  out  ?  " 

"  I've  been  figuring  on  our  future,"  said  John, 
looking  at  his  pad. 

"And  it  must  have  discouraged  you,"  she 
remarked. 

"  Well,  yes.  But  there  is  a  way  out.  That's 
what  I  want  to  talk  about.  I've  got  it  all  down." 


MAKING   OF  A   COUNTRY   HOME 

"  Then  you  ought  to  look  a  little  more  cheer 
ful." 

"  Our  income,"  said  John,  "  is  twenty-four 
hundred  a  year,  and  so  far  as  I  can  see,  it  is 
likely  to  be  that  for  some  years  to  come.  We 
are  living  quite  up  to  it.  Would  you  like  to 
hear  the  figures  ?  " 

"  I'll  hear  them,  but  I  fancy  they  will  be  quite 
familiar." 

"  It  costs  us  six  hundred  a  year  for  rent." 

"Yes." 

"  Nine  hundred  and  sixty  for  food." 

"  Is  that  all  ?  " 

"A  hundred  and  eighty  for  help — oh,  well, 
there's  the  whole  table,"  and  he  handed  over  the 
pad. 

Lucy  took  it  and  read  it  over. 

Rent $600.00 

Food 960.00 

Help 180.00 

Fuel 50.00 

Gas 50.00 

Car  fare 40.00 

Clothes 300.00 

Lunch  down  town  .      .      .      .  72.00 

Amusements 150.00 

Life  insurance 24.00 

Total $2,426.00 

His  wife's  eye  twinkled  a  little.  "  Why,  where 
do  you  suppose  that  twenty-six  dollars  came 
from  ? " 

"  Don't  you  know  ? " 

24 


CASTLES   IN   THE   AIR 

"  I  can  guess  if  you  give  me  time." 
"  Of  course  you  can.  You  took  it  off  the  edge 
of  those  other  items.  You  cut  down  on  food  for 
a  few  weeks.  I  haven't  mentioned  church  con 
tributions,  charity  quarters,  and  extra  cigars,  be 
cause  they  all  had  to  be  chopped  off  that  list 
somewhere.  But  what  struck  me  was  that  we 
might  cut  down  the  whole  line,  make  a  clearing 
as  the  pioneers  do,  and  let  the  sunshine  in  gener 
ally.  But  of  course  the  pioneers  were  home- 
builders  and  men,  you  know.  Would  you  mind 
looking  at  this  other  paper  ?  "  and  he  passed  over 
a  leaf  that  he  had  retained.  It  bore  the  same 
table,  but  it  was  accompanied  by  another,  thus  :  — 

ACTUAL  POSSIBLE 

Rent $600.00      $300.00 

Food 960.00         500.00 

Help 180.00 

Fuel 50.00           40.00 

Gas 50.00 

Car  fare 40.00           20.00 

Clothes 300.00           50.00 

Lunch 72.00 

Amusements.      .      .      .  150.00 

Life  insurance     .      .      .  24.00           24^00 

Total    ....  $2,426.00       $934.00 
Gain     ....     1,492.00 
Gain  (2  years)      .    2,984.00 

He  was  watching  her  nervously,  and  she  took 
some  time  at  it.  Finally  she  dropped  the  pad  in 
her  lap  and  said,  "John,  we  can't  be  genteel  on 
that." 

"  I  know  it,"  said  John,  "  but  we  can  be  happy, 


MAKING   OF   A   COUNTRY   HOME 

and  we'll  come  out  of  the  woods  in  two  years, 
and  build  our  own  home.  The  only  question  is, 
can  we  give  up  being  genteel  for  two  years  in 
order  to  be  luxurious  for  the  rest  of  our  lives  ? 
It  is  really  a  woman-question,  but  I  can  hardly 
expect  you  to  see  it  as  I  do." 

Then  she  made  a  true  woman's  answer. 

"  As  it  is  all  for  me,  John,  I  will  try  and  see  it 
with  your  eyes." 

And  he  acted  just  like  a  man  whose  speech  fails 
him.  He  got  up  and  kissed  her. 

Having  come  to  an  understanding,  this  young 
couple  sat  for  two  hours  solemnly  considering 
their  future  and  the  possibilities  of  escaping  from 
the  inevitableness  of  a  genteel  doom.  John's 
proposition  was  to  reduce  everything  to  a  mini 
mum  of  expense  for  two  years,  and  then,  with  the 
small  capital,  begin  the  task  of  building  and  beau 
tifying  their  own  country  home.  His  wife  had 
not  calculated  all  the  chances  so  patiently  as  had 
her  husband,  and  she  listened  to  him  with  deep 
interest  and  many  secret  misgivings.  "  Dear 
me,"  she  said,  "  I  wonder  what  Wesley  and  his 
wife  will  think  of  us." 

Just  then  there  came  three  imperative  raps  at 
the  door,  which  gave  way,  and  in  came  Wesley 
and  his  wife  with  the  large  vibration  of  exultant 
pleasure-seekers. 

"  Halloo,  old  chap,"  came  a  chipper  voice  from 
his  friend,  as  he  threw  off  his  cape-coat  and  came 
out  in  full-dress,  with  a  sprig  of  heliotrope  on  his 
breast.  "  We  saw  your  light  in  the  windows, 

26 


CASTLES   IN   THE   AIR 

and  says  I,  we'll  climb  and  stir  'em  up  with  a 
rarebit." 

He  was  very  bandboxy  in  appearance  and  effer 
vescent  in  action,  carrying  nevertheless  that  easy 
debonair  manner  of  one  who  is  accustomed  to 
living  in  a  dress-coat.  While  he  was  speaking, 
his  wife  rushed  at  Lucy.  "  Why  didn't  you 
come  to  dinner  with  us  ?  There  was  the  biggest 
crowd  I've  seen  yet,  and  all  kinds  of  people. 
Do  you  smell  the  tobacco  smoke  in  my  hair  ? 
Forty  cents,  wasn't  it,  Wes  ?  Six  courses  and 


wine." 


"  Anything  new  in  it  ?  "  asked  John,  rather 
wearily. 

"  No.  Same  old  thing,  except  the  people. 
You  should  have  seen  them." 

"But  the  theatre  isn't  out  yet,  is  it?"  asked 
Lucy. 

"  Oh,  we  didn't  stay.  I  had  my  seat  next  to 
a  woman  who  smelt  and  shone  so  that  it  made 
me  sick.  I  detest  the  smell  of  musk.  Where's 
the  baby  ?  We've  got  tickets  for  to-morrow  to 
Wallack's  —  new  piece.  You  can't  get  out  of 
that.  Wes  has  four  seats.  Show  me  the  baby." 

"  Isn't  your  mother  coming  to-morrow  night, 
Lucy  ?  "  asked  John,  with  an  impromptu  mendac 
ity  that  made  his  wife  laugh. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  she  replied  ;  "  I  forgot  that." 

"Well,  I'll  tell  you  what,"  said  Kate,  "you 
meet  me  at  Purcell's  on  Saturday  —  we  can  get 
our  lunch  and  go  to  a  matinee.  Have  you 
worn  that  new  boa  yet  ?  Come  on  —  show  me 

27 


MAKING   OF   A   COUNTRY   HOME 

the  baby."     (Exit  the  two  women  in  a   breeze 
through  the  portieres.) 

"What's  the  matter,  old  man,"  said  Wes, 
"  are  you  below  par  ?  Dinner  at  home,  eh  ? 
Well,  it  affects  me  that  way  sometimes." 

"  Oh,  I  had  a  little  domestic  figuring  to  do," 
said  John. 

"Well,  I  should  think  you  got  figuring  enough 
down  town.  Have  you  got  any  beer  in  the 
house  ?  " 

"  Sit  down.  Lucy  will  be  back  in  a  moment. 
Did  you  hear  about  Musgrave  ? " 

"Yes  —  played  the  races,  didn't  he?  How 
deep  is  be  in  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  I  only  heard  the  rumour  this 
afternoon.  It  will  be  in  the  papers  in  the  morn 
ing,  I  suppose." 

"  They  will  do  it,  Jack.  It's  all  in  the  way  of 
life.  I  can  roll  a  cigarette,  of  course  ?  Ye  gods, 
how  his  wife  did  splurge  at  the  beginning  of  the 
winter.  (Lowering  his  voice.)  What  are  you 
going  to  do  to-morrow  night  ?  We  can  take  the 
women  over  to  Wallack's  and  then  go  round  for 
a  while  to  the  burlesque.  There's  a  stunning  lot 
of  handsome  women  in  that  show,  they  tell  me. 
Try  one  of  these  cigarettes  —  new  brand."  (En 
ter  women.)  "  Say,  Kate,  get  that  extra  lace  off 
now,  and  we'll  stir  up  a  rarebit.  Jack's  sluggish." 

"  Oh,  but  we  haven't  any  cheese  in  the  house," 
cried  Lucy. 

"  We  brought  the  cheese  with  us.  What  did 
you  do  with  the  cheese,  Wes  ? " 

28 


CASTLES   IN    THE   AIR 

"  I  left  it  on  the  hat  rack.  Excuse  me.  I'll 
fetch  it.  You've  got  beer,  haven't  you  ?  " 

"My  dear,"  remarks  Kate,  who  is  trying  to 
disentangle  herself  for  business,  "  you're  blue.  I 
know  how  it  is  myself  if  I  stay  home  one 
night.  I  have  to  take  my  Broadway  regularly,  or 
I  have  neurasthenia.  Have  you  had  neurasthe 
nia?  It's  the  latest.  Oh,  I  forgot,  Luce,  I've 
struck  some  five-button  gloves  dirt-cheap.  You'll 
never  believe  it,  sixty  cents.  I  was  looking  at 
some  niching,  and  stumbled  over  them  accidentally. 
This  is  a  pair  of  them.  Wes  says  it's  a  mine.  I 
wear  so  many  gloves  that  I  bankrupt  him.  That 
reminds  me,  Miss  Partington  had  on  a  red  dress 
to-night  and  green  gloves.  Society  play,  too. 
She's  the  worst  dresser  on  the  stage.  I  can't  see 
what  the  papers  make  such  a  fuss  over  her  for." 

"  Perhaps  it's  because  she  can  act,"  said  John. 
"  What  was  the  play  ?  " 

"  Why,  it  was —  Well,  there,  I  had  it  on  the 
end  of  my  tongue.  What  was  the  play,  Wes  ? 
I've  got  a  programme  in  my  muff." 

"  c  School  for  Scandal,'  "  says  Wes,  taking  off 
his  cuffs.  "  Old-timer,  but  we  had  the  tickets, 
you  know.  Now,  then,  if  you'll  waltz  out  the 
chafing-dish,  we'll  grill  you  one  of  the  nimble 
rarebits." 

When  this  lively  pair  had  gone  Lucy  said  to 
her  husband :  "  Don't  growl,  John,  they  are 
good-hearted  people,  and  to-morrow  night  is 
ours,"  and  the  next  night  John  made  some  more 
tables,  and  drew  some  sketch-plans  of  cottages 

29 


MAKING   OF   A   COUNTRY   HOME 

which  he  marked  "  Castles  in  the  Air  No.  i  and 
No.  2,"  after  Lucy  had  leaned  over  and  tried  her 
best  to  add  bay-windows  and  Romeo  balconies 
that  made  them  look  very  lopsided.  The  hero 
ism  of  their  project  insensibly  grew  as  they  planned 
it,  and  the  consequence  was  that  somewhere  about 
Easter  they  moved  into  a  twenty-five-dollar  flat 
on  West  Eighteenth  Street,  it  being  a  great  point 
with  John  to  get  farther  down  town,  so  that  he 
could  walk  to  his  business  in  pleasant  weather. 

The  actual  experience  of  the  change  was  a  far 
greater  test  of  their  endurance  and  pluck  than 
they  had  anticipated,  and  Lucy  had  several  secret 
crying  spells,  but  they  did  not  efface  her  deter 
mination.  The  new  conditions,  distressing  as 
they  were  in  many  particulars,  threw  her  and  John 
closer  together  than  they  had  ever  been  before. 
They  spent  their  evenings  at  home  discussing 
and  planning,  and  defying  all  the  persecutions  of 
their  new  environment  with  hope  and  mutual 
good  humour.  It  is  astonishing  what  a  man 
and  woman  will  put  up  with  when  there  is  a 
promise  of  escape  ahead  of  them.  John  gave  up 
smoking  cigars  and  took  to  a  brierwood  pipe. 
He  let  his  wife  put  up  his  lunch  every  day  in  a 
paper  packet,  and  he  ate  it  exultingly  down  in 
the  packing-box  department  when  the  rest  of  his 
familiars  had  gone  to  the  Astor  House.  He 
bought  a  student-lamp  and  turned  off  the  gas,  and 
to  clinch  matters  wore  his  last-year's  clothes. 
Whenever  things  were  pretty  hard  to  bear,  Lucy 
would  kiss  the  baby  and  take  a  look  at  the  bank- 

30 


CASTLES    IN   THE   AIR 

book.  John,  often  during  that  long  fight,  put 
his  arms  tenderly  about  her  and  said  :  "  Courage, 
sweetheart.  If  it  were  not  for  you  I  would  have 
given  up  the  struggle  at  the  end  of  the  first 
month.  You  shall  be  the  Lady  of  the  Manor 
yet.  Courage." 

So  it  was  that  when  Easter  came  about  two 
years  later,  and  that  latest  member  of  the  group 
had  crawled  out  of  the  cradle  and  was  toddling 
about,  beginning  to  talk  to  his  father  with  two 
syllables,  John  came  home  one  night,  climbed  the 
three  pairs  of  stairs  to  his  flat,  for  there  was  no 
elevator  in  the  house,  and  sitting  down  to  his 
dinner,  tapped  his  breast  significantly  and  said, 
"  Eureka,  sweetheart." 

"  Has  the  cold  in  your  head  settled  on  your 
lungs  ? "  asked  Lucy,  who  once  more  had  pork 
tenderloins  trussed  like  woodcock. 

"  Made  the  last  deposit  to-day.  There  you 
are,"  and  he  handed  the  bank-book  across  the 
table. 

"  Twenty-nine  hundred  dollars,"  said  Lucy, 
with  a  fine  burst.  "  Why,  it's  beaten  us  at  our 
own  game." 

"  Yes,  partnership  capital.  I  earned  it  and 
you  saved  it.  I  take  back  what  I  said  about 
marrying  being  a  handicap.  It's  a  revelation. 
Consider  yourself  smothered  with  congratula 
tions,  and  get  yourself  ready  for  business." 

"  What  must  we  do  next  ?  " 

"  Get  up  early  to-morrow  morning,  it  being 
Sunday,  put  on  your  warmest  duds,  and  go  down 


MAKING   OF   A   COUNTRY   HOME 

on  Long  Island  with  me  to  look  at  a  place  which 
is  advertised  in  the  Herald.  Can't  we  leave  the 
baby  with  the  janitor  ?  " 

"  Heavens  and  earth,  I  don't  think  you  know 
what  you  are  talking  about,  John.  I'll  send  for 
mother." 


*•-» 


CHAPTER   II 

THE    SEARCH 

JOHN  DENNISON  and  his  wife  were  ordi 
nary   human    beings    like  the   most   of  us. 
Neither  of  them  had  the  remotest  idea  of 
doing    the    heroic    or    the    romantic    thing 
according   to    the    current    examples.      But   we 
must  not  forget  that  the  great  bulk  of  the  hero 
ism  of  life  lies  among  the  uncelebrated  persons 
who  do  their  duty  unflinchingly  and  never  know 
how  heroic  they  are. 

A  very  practical  and  a  very  common  ambition 
had  taken  possession  of  John.  It  had  been 
months  growing.  It  was  to  possess  a  home  of 
his  own  that  would  return  him  something  for  all 
his  labour  on  it,  both  in  the  shape  of  physical 
benefit  and  mental  satisfaction.  He  and  his  wife 
had  come  to  understand  each  other,  and  they  had 
accomplished  the  first  and  probably  the  most 
difficult  step  towards  it.  They  had  by  dint  of 

33 


MAKING   OF   A   COUNTRY   HOME 

self-sacrifice  and  some  humiliation  of  a  very  natu 
ral  pride,  saved  up  the  money  that  was  necessary 
for  a  start.  It  had  been  a  long  and  often  a  weari 
some  struggle.  But  it  had  been  lit  by  a  new 
companionship  and  common  purpose,  and  made 
endurable  by  a  new  hope.  The  next  step  prom 
ised  to  be  more  springy.  It  was  to  begin  the 
search  for  a  spot  somewhere  on  earth  that  they 
could  make  their  own  and  join  hands  still  closer 
in  the  beautifying  and  preservation  of  it. 

The  effort  that  looked  so  pleasant  in  the  pros 
pect  proved  to  be  beset  with  disappointments, 
aggravations,  and  discouragements  before  they 
came  in  sight  of  the  final  results.  And  you 
must  understand  that,  however  much  in  common 
a  man  and  woman  may  have  in  life,  however 
close  they  grow  together  in  affection  and  in  pur 
pose,  one  remains  masculine  and  the  other  femi 
nine  to  the  last.  Try  as  they  will  to  see  things 
with  the  same  eyes,  things  insist  on  looking  un 
like  to  them.  Lucy's  idea  of  a  future  home  had 
been  slowly  shaping  itself  in  her  mind.  A  cot 
tage  meant  to  her  a  solid,  embowered,  and  invit 
ing  stone  house,  with  bays  and  recessed  portico 
and  mullioned  windows,  all  smothered  in  guelder 
roses  and  vibrant  with  the  songs  of  birds.  She 
had  probably  caught  this  picture  insensibly  from 
some  English  book,  and  it  was  associated  in  her 
mind  with  beehives  and  nodding  poppies  and 
vistas  of  lawns  and  hedgerows.  John,  on  the 
other  hand,  probably  saw  the  thing  in  its  crudest 
and  most  elemental  condition,  and  found  all  his 

34 


THE   SEARCH 

satisfaction  in  creating  the  other  thing  out  of  it. 
This  is  the  difference,  as  you  shall  see,  between 
the  masculine  and  feminine  point  of  view.  John 
was  to  find  out  that  what  he  wanted  was  not  to 
be  had  for  the  asking.  He  cut  advertisement 
after  advertisement  from  the  papers,  and  he  went 
off  on  many  journeys  of  inspection  and  learned 
a  good  many  sound  lessons  before  he  got  through. 

The  first  of  these  journeys  would  have  damp 
ened  the  ardour  of  almost  anybody.  He  had 
cut  from  a  newspaper  the  following  advertise 
ment  :  — 

"For  Sale  —  on  Long  Island,  farm  of  twelve 
acres,  with  cottage  in  good  condition  ;  thirty-five 
miles  from  City  Hall.  Good,  productive,  healthy 
site.  Terms  easy.  Apply  to  Ira  Quick,  Lime- 
cliff,  Long  Island." 

Sunday  morning  was  selected,  and  John  took 
his  wife  with  him.  The  railroad  did  not  reach 
Limecliff  by  two  miles,  but  they  encountered 
Mr.  Ira  Quick  at  the  last  station,  where  he  kept 
a  livery  stable,  and  he  promptly  offered  to  drive 
them  down.  The  way  was  not  inspiring.  They 
crossed  vast  downs,  studded  with  advertisements; 
they  passed  through  one  or  two  nascent  cities, 
rectangularly  laid  out  but  not  yet  budding  into 
houses.  They  sped  along  against  a  brisk  wind, 
seeing  very  few  signs  of  spring.  The  skunk  cab 
bage  showed  green  spots  in  the  lowlands,  and 
there  were  some  verdant  gleams  of  grass  in  shel 
tered  places.  A  premature  bluebird  twittered 
occasionally.  The  general  aspect  was  raw,  un- 

35 


MAKING   OF   A   COUNTRY   HOME 

kempt,  and  barren,  save  where  German  women, 
despite  the  day,  were  working  in  their  truck 
gardens. 

"  Think  of  farming  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Quick,  who 
was  a  short,  thickset,  black-whiskered  man  with 
a  horsey  air,  a  large  watch-chain,  and  a  cigar, 
which  latter  he  used  mainly  for  masticating  pur 
poses. 

"  In  a  small  way,"  answered  John,  evasively. 

"  Chicken  farming  ?  " 

"  No,  sir,"  emphatically. 

"  Well,  you  see  it  sets  that  way  generally  with 
most  of  the  city  people.  I  thought  I'd  ask. 
Tried  it  before,  maybe/' 

"  I  am  simply  looking  for  a  place  that  will  fur 
nish  me  with  a  suitable  home." 

"And  we  are  quite  particular  about  appear 
ances,"  added  Lucy ;  "  it  must  be  inviting  as 
well  as  productive." 

"  Then  youVe  struck  it  between  the  eyes,  and 
dirt  cheap,"  said  Mr.  Quick.  "  Want  a  place,  I 
dare  say  now,  that  will  suit  the  lady  —  no  mos 
quitoes,  chance  for  lawns,  flower-beds,  and  all 
that  sort  of  thing.  I've  just  got  it." 

Mr.  Quick,  being  a  horse  man,  was  very  anx 
ious  about  the  high-stepping  team  that  he  was 
driving,  which  was  unusually  fresh,  and  once  or 
twice  he  got  out  and  gave  his  attention  to  the 
harness.  The  roads  were  in  that  condition  that 
is  experienced  only  in  the  early  spring  after  a  long 
frost.  They  had  been  cut  up  into  heavy  furrows 
by  the  truck  wagons  of  the  farmers,  and  had 

36 


THE   SEARCH 

frozen  into  cast-iron  ridges,  the  outer  surface  of 
which  the  warm  sun  was  now  converting  into  a 
slippery  slime,  so  that  the  light  wheels  of  the 
vehicle  slipped  and  fell  and  twisted  about  in  a 
manner  that  produced  upon  Lucy  the  effect  of  a 
very  large  Faradic  current.  She  was  beginning 
to  experience  a  pain  in  her  back,  when  Mr.  Quick 
ran  his  horses  up  to  a  board  fence,  and  jumping 
out,  began  to  tighten  his  straps  here  and  there. 
His  two  companions  surveyed  the  landscape  in 
silence.  It  was  an  open  prospect,  for  Long 
Island  at  its  best  is  not  Alpine.  They  saw  one 
house,  not  unlike  an  exaggerated  dog  kennel, 
sticking  up  in  the  near  distance  and  breaking 
the  horizon  line  as  a  buoy  in  the  ocean  might 
do  it. 

"  Anything  the  matter  with  your  harness  ?  " 
asked  John.  "  How  much  farther  have  we  to 
go?"  ' 

"  No  farther.  This  is  the  place.  You'd  bet 
ter  get  out  here  where  it  is  hard." 

"You  sit  still,"  said  John  to  Lucy,  "and  I'll 
go  and  take  a  peep  at  it." 

"  But  where  is  the  cottage?"  she  asked.  "  Let 
us  drive  to  that.  It's  more  important  than  the 
soil." 

"  There  you  are,"  said  Mr.  Quick,  pointing  to 
the  dog  kennel. 

"  That  lonely  thing  ? "  asked  Lucy,  with  un 
bounded  amazement,  standing  up  in  the  vehicle. 

"  Looks  a  little  rough  this  time  of  year,  you 
know,"  said  Mr.  Quick.  "You  won't  know  it 

37 


MAKING   OF   A   COUNTRY   HOME 

in  two  weeks.  I  s'pose  you  understand/*  he 
added,  turning  to  John,  "  that  the  real  advantage 
of  this  country  is  that  we've  got  the  Gulf  Stream 
within  reach.  The  farmers  up  state  would  give 
a  good  deal  to  have  the  Gulf  Stream  flowing  past 
their  acres.  Why,  we're  three  weeks  ahead  of 
Jersey  with  our  peas,  and  as  for  spinach,  well, 
sir,  it'll  squeeze  through  the  snow  if  you  don't 
watch  it.  Let  me  show  you  the  house." 

"  I  don't  think  we  care  to  see  the  inside,"  said 
Lucy  ;  "  it  wouldn't  suit  us." 

John  was  not  so  rigid.  "  I  think  we'd  better 
look  at  it,  now  that  we're  here." 

"Of course,"  observed  Mr.  Quick,  leading 
the  way,  "  you  are  a  practical  man  and  under 
stand  it's  the  soil  that  tells  the  story.  What  you 
want  is  a  fine,  sandy  loam  with  a  tight  subsoil, 
isn't  it  ? " 

"  What's  the  price  of  this  property  ? "  asked 
John,  cutting  him  short. 

"  How  high  do  you  want  to  go,  Colonel,  for  a 
farm  ?  I  have  refused  fifteen  hundred  dollars, 
spot  cash,  for  this  eligible  piece.  Did  you  think 
of  doing  anything  in  cabbages  ?  " 

"  What  is  the  use  of  our  looking  at  this  place, 
John  ?  "  said  Lucy. 

"  Because  if  you  did,"  continued  Mr.  Quick, 
ignoring  the  lady  entirely,  "  I  can  give  you  a 
pointer  —  stick  to  the  early  Wakefield.  If  there's 
any  cabbage  in  the  market  that  the  Gulf  Stream 
takes  to,  it's  the  early  Wakefield.  There  will 
be  a  great  rush  down  here  in  a  year  or  two. 

38 


THE   SEARCH 

The  papers  haven't  worked  the  Gulf  Stream  yet. 
Now's  your  time  to  jump  in." 

This  experience  stuck  up  in  Lucy's  memory 
for  a  long  time,  like  the  sharp  roof  of  that  house. 
She  never  forgot  the  forlorn  aspect  of  the  cottage, 
and  she  always  referred  to  it  as  the  "  Gulf  Stream 
residence."  To  her  eye  it  was  like  a  lost  spar  in 
the  ocean,  and  she  thought  of  herself  clinging  to 
it  and  waiting  for  her  husband  night  after  night, 
making  his  way  from  the  nearest  station.  When 
she  parted  with  Mr.  Quick,  it  was  with  something 
of  a  suppressed  hatred  of  him,  as  if  he  had  made 
a  dastardly  attempt  to  smash  her  ideal,  and  he, 
with  an  easy  combination  of  horsey  courtesy  and 
rough  irony,  tipped  his  hat  to  her  and  invited  her 
to  come  down  again  when  the  weather  was  set 
tled.  "  There  might  be  a  triumphal  arch  or  two 
and  a  pianer  on  the  lawn,  seeing  that  those  were 
modern  conveniences  when  a  man  wants  to  farm." 

Altogether  this  experience  was  an  unfortunate 
one,  and  yet  it  taught  John  several  useful  lessons. 
One  was  not  to  prospect  on  Sunday  ;  another  was 
to  make  some  inquiries  by  mail  before  spending 
money  on  railroad  trips,  and  above  all  not  to  take 
his  wife  until  he  had  made  a  preliminary  examina 
tion.  "Good  Heavens,"  he  said  to  himself,  "if  I 
wanted  her  to  plant  roses,  I  wouldn't  take  her 
into  the  manure  heap  with  me  first." 

But  John  was  not  discouraged.  At  the  solici 
tation  of  a  friend  he  investigated  Staten  Island. 
But  that  beautiful  sea-swept  domain  seemed  to 
him,  on  examination,  to  be  a  very  delightful 

39 


MAKING   OF   A   COUNTRY   HOME 

metropolitan  convenience  only,  where  happy 
people,  mainly  in  search  of  sea  air,  could  always 
have  the  city  in  sight  and  be  quite  sure  that  it 
would  not  disappear  while  they  were  bathing  or 
cutting  their  lawns.  Its  accessible  nearness  was 
not  an  advantage  to  him.  He  thought  he 
detected  in  the  worried  aspect  of  some  of  his 
business  friends  who  lived  there,  a  continual 
responsibility  with  regard  to  the  ferry-boat. 
They  held  their  watches  in  their  hands  at  the 
theatre,  and  generally  hurried  out  before  the  play 
was  over.  The  atmosphere  of  the  city  extended 
to  Staten  Island.  (Since  John  made  his  visit  the 
authority  as  well  as  the  atmosphere  of  the  city 
has  extended  there.)  When  he  inquired  what  a 
man  could  do  for  himself  on  a  piece  of  ground 
100  x  50,  he  was  triumphantly  told  that  he  could 
fill  his  lungs  with  sea  air,  and  to  John's  practical 
sense  this  seemed  an  insufficient  pastime. 

Then  he  journeyed  up  the  Hudson  as  far  as 
Scarborough  to  look  at  a  snug  little  farm  on  the 
hills.  Here,  again,  he  fell  into  the  persuasive 
arms  of  an  agent.  Scarborough  is  a  delightful 
hamlet  just  above  Tarrytown,  lying  in  a  cove  of 
its  own,  and  forever  gazing  into  Haverstraw  Bay 
with  dreamful  eyes.  The  snug  farm  was  a  mile 
and  a  half  from  the  station.  There  were  seven 
acres  and  the  remnants  of  a  solid  old-fashioned 
farmhouse  thereon,  canopied  by  some  ancient 
apple  trees.  But  stretching  away  on  either  hand 
were  vast  parks  ;  great  preserves  of  the  men  who, 
instead  of  going  to  Paris  when  they  die,  take  it 

40 


THE   SEARCH 

out  of  the  Hudson  while  they  live.  The  price 
of  this  remnant  of  former  agricultural  days  was 
six  thousand  dollars.  It  took  John's  breath 
away,  but  the  agent  pointed  out  the  view  and  the 
neighbours.  "  You  have  the  Beekmans  on  one 
side  and  the  Rhinelanders  on  the  other.  You 
can  look  into  the  Rockefellers'  grounds  from 
your  second-story  window,  and  throw  a  pitchfork 
over  into  the  Shepards'  from  your  barn.  There 
is  no  other  place  on  earth  where  land  brings  you 
into  such  good  society." 

"  But  I'm  not  buying  land  to  get  into  good 
society,"  said  John. 

"  No  ? "  queried  the  agent,  with  a  slight  loss 
of  respect  in  his  manner.  "  Not  trying  to  get 
out  of  it,  I  hope?  " 

"  Well,  yes  —  rather." 

"  Haven't  you  come  to  the  wrong  market  ?  " 
asked  the  agent.  "  Perhaps  you'll  object  to  the 


view." 


"  No  —  only  to  the  price." 

"  That's  what  we're  selling  up  here.  You 
ought  to  go  over  the  ridge  on  the  Northern 
Railroad.  Why  don't  you  try  Elmsford  ?  Prop 
erty  drops  a  couple  of  hundred  dollars  an  acre  as 
soon  as  you  get  out  of  sight  of  this  noble  river." 

This  astonishing  piece  of  information  was 
verified  by  subsequent  examinations,  and  John 
learned  by  slow  degrees  that  a  man  with  only  two 
or  three  thousand  dollars  could  not  afford  topo 
graphical  aestheticism.  He  was  also  slowly  learn 
ing  that  there  was  a  distinction,  sharp  and  clear. 


MAKING   OF   A    COUNTRY   HOME 

between  rural  and  rustic.  Rural  meaning  coun 
try  life  that  does  not  relinquish  the  city,  and 
rustic  meaning  country  life  that  is  independent  of 
it,  and  doesn't  care  much  more  than  a  dollar  and 
a  half  after  haying  time  for  it.  To  enjoy  the 
unquestioned  privilege  of  easy  and  uninterrupted 

• I  J      C       -I'     '  1  '      T-t_ 

railroad  facilities,  genteel  neighbours,  macadam 
ized  roads,  picturesque  surroundings,  and  above 
all,  VIEW,  was  to  become  a  suburbanite.  He 
found  that  he  could  live  thirty  miles  out  on  the 
Hudson,  and  come  to  the  city  every  day  at  a 
commuting  rate  of  eight  dollars  a  month. 
He  could  get  home  at  all  hours.  There  were 
theatre  trains  all  the  year  round,  and  all  the 
morning  papers  for  breakfast.  In  addition  to 
this,  one  enthusiastic  friend  had  told  him  that 
the  price  of  land  kept  out  an  objectionable  class 
of  people,  and  they  were  rustics.  Most  of  his 
friends  had  been  buying  modern  conveniences  in 
the  rural  market  ready  made,  and  were  paying 
handsomely  for  the  goods.  Why  was  it  not 
possible  to  construct  beauty  and  independence 
your  own  way  from  the  bottom  up,  with  the  safe 
assurance  that  the  conveniences  would  come 
along  in  the  course  of  time  ? 

April  and  May  had  slipped  away  and  part  of 
June  was  gone.  As  the  warm  weather  overtook 
him  and  his  wife  in  the  cheap  flat,  he  began  to 
get  restless.  He  felt  that  he  had  deprived  his  wife 
of  many  of  the  comforts  and  luxuries  of  a  genteel 
home,  to  which  she  was  entitled,  with  a  plea  of 
great  achievements,  and  so  far  they  had  come  to 

42 


THE   SEARCH 

naught.  Lucy  did  not  upbraid  him  in  words, 
nor  did  she  complain,  but  her  appearance  itself 
was  a  continual  reproach.  He  saw  that  she  was 
wearing  her  old  dresses,  and  that  the  drudgery 
of  economy  and  a  narrow  routine  were  beginning 
to  tell  in  her  face.  Much  of  her  enthusiasm  had 
cooled  and  the  embowered  cottage  of  her  dreams 
had  receded  under  the  pressure  of  trivial  and 
incessant  duties.  But,  woman-like,  she  did  her 
best  to  disguise  this  from  her  husband,  and  when 
he  had  fits  of  discouragement,  she  cheered  him 
up.  "  Don't  get  blue,  John/*  she  would  say  ; 
"  you  will  accomplish  your  purpose  in  time. 
Have  patience."  But  a  man  is  usually  so  built 
that  patience  in  inaction  is  an  impossibility.  That 
is  why  he  is  such  an  inferior  invalid  to  a  woman. 
If  he  cannot  overcome,  he  collapses. 

"  Sweetheart,"  he  said  to  Lucy  one  sultry 
morning,  "  you  must  get  out  of  this  with  the 
boy.  Go  away  to  the  seaside.  Go  home  to 
Holyoke.  Do  anything  for  a  change,  before  the 
summer  is  over.  I'll  rough  it  here  without  you." 

"  That's  very  well  meant,  John,"  she  said, 
"  but  it  wouldn't  make  it  any  pleasanter  when  I 
got  back.  I'm  all  right  as  I  am,  but  I  would 
like  to  send  Harold  away  till  fall.  It  does  seem 
to  be  a  shame  to  coop  him  up  here  all  summer. 
Wesley  and  Kate  have  gone  to  Narragansett 
Pier,  I  suppose,  by  this  time,  for  their  vacation." 

"  Yes,"  said  John,  rather  resenting  the  sug 
gestion,  "  and  it  will  cost  them  ten  dollars  a  day. 
What  will  they  have  when  they  get  back  ? " 

43 


MAKING   OF   A   COUNTRY   HOME 

"  I  can't  imagine,  unless  it  should  be  brighter 
spirits  and  better  appetites." 

"  By  heavens,"  said  John,  flaring  up  in 
stantly,  "  you  shall  go  to  Newport  or  Cape 
May  and  spend  twenty  dollars  a  day  if  you  say 
the  word.  I  can  afford  it  better  than  Wesley, 
and  you  have  earned  it.  All  you  have  to  do  is 
to  crook  your  finger." 

After  this  he  gave  his  attention  to  the  railroads 
that  focussed  themselves  in  Jersey  City.  In  a 
broad  way  he  conceived  of  them  as  running  off 
southward  to  genial  climes  through  Jersey,  Penn 
sylvania,  and  Maryland,  but  beset  anywhere 
within  reach  of  New  York  City  by  populous 
manufacturing  centres.  His  recollection  of  jour 
neys  in  that  direction  when  going  to  Philadelphia 
or  Washington,  was  of  Newark,  Passaic,  Tren 
ton,  Elizabeth,  hives  of  workers,  with  an  atmos 
phere  of  smoke,  and  who  retained  in  their 
communal  aspects  the  groupings  of  the  great 
masses  in  New  York.  Somehow  it  seemed  to 
him  that  he  did  not  belong  to  these  energetic 
toilers,  and  could  not  take  his  wife  into  a  manu 
facturing  district. 

Unguided  and  undetermined,  he  one  day 
looked  down  the  long  lists  of  stations  duly 
scheduled  under  clock  faces  in  the  Erie  depot. 
There  were  so  many  branches  of  travel  that  they 
tangled  themselves  in  his  mind.  He  wondered 
at  the  innumerable  towns  that  he  had  never 
heard  of  and  could  not  fix  on  the  map.  But 
some  of  the  names  sounded  pleasant  and  invit- 

44 


THE    SEARCH 

ing :  Ferndale,  Hohokus,  Mount  Ivy,  Oradell, 
Riveredge.  One  of  these  columns  ended  sud 
denly  with  Suffern,  as  if  that  were  a  kind  of  pas 
toral  limit,  and  Suffern  he  knew  by  reputation. 
He  remembered  that  an  old  friend  of  his  father's 
lived  somewhere  in  that  vicinity.  The  next 
minute  he  had  bought  his  ticket  and  was  climb 
ing  aboard  an  Erie  train,  guided  only  by  a  sud 
den  impulse.  In  an  hour  and  a  quarter  he  was 
at  the  little  station,  looking  about  him  at  the 
great  gap  in  the  mountains,  and  wondering  to 
find  himself  so  suddenly  at  this  unexpected  Alpine 
gateway  through  which  one  must  pass  to  traverse 
the  state. 

If  the  reader  will  stop  here  a  moment  and  look 
at  the  map  of  the  country  immediately  west  of 
the  Hudson,  he  will  see  an  arbitrary  line,  drawn 
diagonally  from  a  point  on  the  Hudson  River  a 
few  miles  below  Piermont,  running  northwest 
through  the  middle  of  Greenwood  Lake,  and 
ending  against  one  of  the  outlying  spurs  of  the 
Blue  Ridge.  This  is  the  New  Jersey  state  line, 
and  north  of  it  lies  an  interesting  triangle,  each 
side  of  which  is  twenty  miles  long  and  which  en 
closes  two  hundred  and  eight  square  miles.  This 
is  Rockland  County,  New  York.  Its  northern 
point  is  not  more  than  fifty  miles  from  the  City 
Hall  in  Manhattan,  and  its  southern  limit  now 
comes  within  a  pistol-shot  of  the  extended  city. 
But  to  this  great  dense  and  tumultuous  world, 
the  domain  is  virtually  a  terra  incognita.  It  is 
known  only  by  its  suburban  towns  here  and  there 

45 


MAKING    OF   A   COUNTRY   HOME 

on  the  Hudson,  such  as  Stony  Point,  Nyack,  and 
Rockland  Lake,  or  Suffern  and  Tuxedo  on  the 
Western  trunk  line  of  the  Erie  road.  Between 
those  points  lies,  in  its  original  serenity  and  wild- 
ness,  an  unknown  pastoral  tract  of  diversified 
beauty,  untouched  by  the  hand  of  speculation 
and  undisturbed  by  enterprise.  Its  roads  are 
possibly  the  worst  in  the  state.  Its  railroad  facili 
ties  are  uncertain  and  wide  apart.  Its  villages 
are  isolated  and  moss-grown.  Its  inhabitants, 
save  along  the  boundaries  where  travel  goes  by, 
are  the  descendants  of  the  original  Hollanders 
who  settled  it,  and  who  have  left  upon  it  their 
incorrigible  antipathy  to  change  or  improvement. 

Originally  this  tract  of  country  was  included  in 
Orange  County,  and  the  whole  domain  flowed 
with  milk  if  not  with  honey.  Our  fathers  identi 
fied  milk  and  cheese  with  Orange  County,  and 
felt  grateful  to  Rockland  Lake  in  what  they  called 
the  heated  term,  for  it  furnished  them  with  ice. 
Further  than  this  the  world  was  not  interested. 
Two  trunk  railroads  now  traverse  the  county. 
But  they  give  little  heed  to  it,  for  they  concen 
trate  their  attention  on  what  is  called  "through 
travel."  Rockland  County  is  regarded  in  an 
indulgent  way  as  something  to  be  crossed  in  get 
ting  out  of  or  coming  into  New  York  City. 

This  bit  of  history  and  topography  is  necessary 
if  one  is  to  understand  the  surprise  of  a  man  like 
John  Dennison  when  he  finds  himself  left  by  the 
ongoing  railroad  at  such  a  station  as  Suffern. 
He  feels  that  he  has  severed  the  link  that  con- 


THE   SEARCH 

nects  him  with  a  competing  and  conquering  world. 
He  ought  to  have  gone  on.  If  he  leaves  the 
safe  vicinity  of  the  railroad,  and  goes  through  the 
gap  of  the  hills  into  Rockland  County,  he  will  be 
lost  in  a  Beulah  Land,  where  there  are  no  trolleys, 
no  asphalt,  no  building  associations,  no  depart 
ment  stores,  no  roof  gardens,  no  ambulances,  no 
slums.  Nothing  but  sleepy  old  roads  with  stone 
fences  on  either  side  covered  with  bittersweet  and 
blackberry  vines ;  nothing  but  old  houses  hiding 
among  lonely  cloisters  of  beech  and  butternut. 
Somewhere  the  little  Mahwah  River  will  come 
flashing  and  singing  down  from  the  hills  to  join 
the  Ramapo,  and  together  they  will  set  out  wan 
dering  in  the  most  reckless  manner  to  find  the 
Passaic,  and  then  they  have  fallen  nine  hundred 
feet,  for  that  is  the  height  at  which  the  man  stands 
in  upper  Rockland  County  above  sea  level,  and, 
save  for  the  distance,  he  would  have  to  look  down 
at  his  feet  to  find  it. 

Such  absolute  rusticity  so  near  to  the  great  city 
cannot  be  found  in  any  other  direction.  From 
any  of  the  highest  points  one  can  always  see  at 
night  the  great  electric  aureole  of  Manhattan  in 
the  southern  sky.  From  Mount  Ivy  one  can 
discern  with  a  glass  the  pier  of  the  Brooklyn 
Bridge  when  the  air  is  clear.  From  the  knolls  of 
Tuxedo  the  mists  and  reflections  of  the  Atlantic 
shimmer  low  down  in  the  east,  and  from  the  jagged 
peak  of  the  Thor  at  Haverstraw,  the  waterway  at 
its  feet  spreads  out  into  an  inland  sea  and  lies 
like  a  shining  pathway  to  the  Narrows. 

47 


MAKING   OF   A   COUNTRY   HOME 

John  went  into  the  nearest  village  store  and 
inquired  for  Philip  Swarthout.  The  young  man 
who  was  drawing  molasses  asked  him  if  he  meant 
Pop  Swarthout  —  he  was  over  back  three  miles. 
John  got  the  direction,  went  to  a  livery  stable, 
hired  a  buggy,  and  set  out  eastward  to  find  Pop 
Swarthout.  He  said  afterward  that  as  soon  as 
he  left  the  village  he  felt  like  a  man  who  had  lost 
the  combination.  In  ten  minutes  he  had  aban 
doned  the  last  vestige  of  metropolitan  life.  He 
looked  about  in  vain  for  the  familiar  advertise 
ments  on  the  rocks.  One  or  two  daintily  dressed 
bicyclists  passed  him  as  they  hurried  back  to  their 
summer  boarding-houses  in  Suffern.  He  jogged 
leisurely  along  the  road,  which  was  on  a  low  ter 
race  that  followed  the  curves  of  a  little  river,  and 
was  buttressed  on  the  other  side  with  the  great 
hills  whose  redundant  vegetation  swept  down  to 
the  highway  itself,  and  often  completely  arboured 
it  with  oaks  and  chestnuts.  As  he  left  the  sound 
of  the  coughing  locomotives  behind,  songs  of 
birds  and  the  murmur  of  the  water  enhanced  the 
drowsy  stillness.  The  smell  of  hay  came  heavily 
down  the  valley,  and  he  could  at  intervals  hear 
the  click  of  the  machines  in  the  distant  meadows. 
Occasional  shingle  roofs  peeped  from  the  trees  in 
the  middle  distance,  giving  evidence  of  carefully 
screened  and  modest  residences,  but  there  were 
no  gentleman's  grounds,  no  park  palings,  no  pre 
serves.  Everything  wore  a  luxurious  and  tangled 
unconventionality.  The  hedgerows  bent  over 
the  roads  in  inextricable  snarls  of  dogwood  and 


THE   SEARCH 

elderberry.  The  paths  wound  through  waving 
June  grass  and  timothy.  Agriculture  had  not 
parted  company  with  landscape.  Most  of  the 
houses  that  he  passed  were  separated  by  long  and 
often  half-wild  tracts.  But  there  were  comfort 
able,  unpretentious,  and  unmistakably  country 
houses,  half  hidden  by  old  trees  and  wearing 
heavy  veils  of  Virginia  creeper  and  wild  trumpet- 
honeysuckle.  Nearly  always  they  were  enclosed 
by  old  gardens  in  which  phlox  and  lady's-slrpjDers 
and  tansy  were  conspicuously  mixed. 

It  was  evident  to  John  that  he  had  reached  a 
country  where  both  the  Gulf  Stream  and  the 
human  stream  had  ceased  from  troubling,  and 
where,  he  suspected,  it  might  be  always  afternoon. 
When  he  had  gone  about  two  miles  he  came  to 
an  old-fashioned  white  picket  fence  running  along 
the  road,  with  a  piece  of  white  paper  tacked  on 
the  gate  post.  He  got  out  and  read  it :  "  This 
house  is  for  rent.  Inquire  of  Philip  Swarthout." 
The  house  stood  about  sixty  feet  from  the  road. 
It  was  an  old  red  sandstone  affair,  a  simple  paral 
lelogram  without  ornament  except  the  climbing 
roses  had  covered  one  end  of  it.  It  stood  in  the 
centre  of  a  wooded  area,  several  fine  old  trees 
throwing  their  shadows  across  it.  He  tied  his 
horse  and  went  into  the  enclosure.  The  path 
was  overgrown  with  waving  June  grass.  He 
knocked  at  the  door,  and  after  several  knocks  re 
ceiving  no  answer,  he  walked  round  to  the  rear, 
and  was  surprised  to  find  a  big  porch  running  the 
entire  length,  and  flanked  at  one  end  by  a  honey 

49 


MAKING   OF   A    COUNTRY    HOME 

locust  and  at  the  other  by  an  apple  tree.  The 
ground  swept  in  a  gentle  slope  to  the  river,  which 
he  could  see  flashing  and  dancing  through  the 
trees,  as  it  wound  along  a  lush  meadow.  He  sat 
down  on  the  step  of  the  porch  and  enjoyed  it. 
The  Ramapo  Mountains  rose  up  in  the  west,  with 
their  forests  and  cliffs  sharply  defined,  and  in  the 
gaps  he  could  see  the  billowy  distances  of  the 
Blue  Ridge.  It  was  a  singularly  restful  and 
beautiful  scene,  and  he  wished  he  had  brought 
Lucy  with  him.  "  I  wonder,"  he  said  with  uncon 
scious  irony,  "  what  this  view  is  worth  —  probably 
something  utterly  beyond  my  means. "  He 
knocked  at  the  rear  door  and  got  no  answer,  but 
mechanically  trying  the  knob,  it  opened  into  a 
little  vestibule.  He  knocked  again,  but  there 
was  no  response.  He  looked  in  at  the  nearest 
room.  The  sun  was  pouring  in  through  the  fes 
toons  of  roses  round  the  deep  windows.  There 
were  several  pieces  of  furniture  of  antique  shape 
and  a  rug  or  two,  but  the  place  smelled  of  soot. 
He  walked  to  the  window  and  admired  the  deep 
stone  sill  with  its  drift  of  rose  leaves  in  the  cor 
ners.  The  breastwork  of  a  brick  chimney  pro 
jected  into  the  room,  and  the  fireplace  was  closed 
with  a  framed  canvas  upon  which  were  painted,  in 
bold  artistic  way,  some  ferns  and  cattails.  A  few 
imprisoned  wasps  were  weakly  crawling  over  the 
panes.  When  he  tried  to  open  the  window  he  found 
that  it  was  nailed  fast,  and  he  wondered  why  any 
one  should  nail  the  windows  and  leave  the  doors 
open. 

5° 


THE   SEARCH 

Then  John  went  out  again  upon  the  porch, 
and  noticed  for  the  first  time  a  pail  with  a  scrub 
bing  brush  in  it,  and  a  new  broom  lying  close 
beside  it.  This  was  like  Crusoe's  discovery  of 
the  footprint,  and  almost  immediately  there  rose 
up  from  the  June  grass  a  stalwart  maid,  with  high 
cheek  bones,  cold  blue  eyes,  and  a  gaping  mouth 
full  of  white  teeth,  with  her  sleeves  rolled  up  and 
her  red  hands  on  her  hips,  looking  at  him  with 
astonishment. 

"  I  was  just  examining  the  house,"  said  John. 
"  I  see  it  is  to  be  rented.  Where  is  Mr. 
Swarthout  ?  " 

The  girl,  still  staring,  said  :  "  He  ?  He  in  the 
grass  is." 

"  Good  heavens  !  "  said  John.  "  How  long 
since  it  happened  ?  I  didn't  know  he  was  dead." 

"  He  ain't  dead.  He's  gettin'  in  his  early  hay 
—  over  there,"  and  she  pointed  one  bare  arm  in 
an  uncertain  direction.  "  Are  you  hiring  it  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  might  be.     Do  you  live  in  it  ?  " 

"  No,  I'm  going  to  clean  it." 

She  pointed  once  more  with  her  arm,  and  John 
set  out  to  find  Mr.  Swarthout. 

He  discovered  him  at  last  in  his  hay  field 
superintending  the  men  who  were  getting  in  his 
crop.  He  must  have  been  at  least  eighty  years 
old,  but  he  had  that  shrivelled  activity  and  sly 
acumen  which  belong  to  these  veterans  of  the 
field,  and  he  handled  a  rake  with  easy  dexterity. 
When  John  told  him  who  he  was,  the  old  man 
looked  him  all  over,  grunted,  and  said :  "  Yes,  I 

51 


MAKING   OF   A   COUNTRY   HOME 

knew  your  father.  He'd  known  better  than  to 
make  a  visit  in  haying  time." 

John  saw  the  significant  looks  of  the  men,  as 
if  they  were  saying  to  each  other,  "  Oh,  the  old 
man  will  take  the  conceit  out  of  him." 

"  I  didn't  come  to  make  you  a  visit,"  said 
John.  "  I  wanted  to  inquire  about  a  piece  of 
property  you  have  for  rent.  If  I  interfere  with 
your  haying,  I  will  find  somebody  else  whose 
hay  doesn't  interfere  with  his  humour,"  and  John 
turned  on  his  heel. 

"  Hold  on,"  said  the  old  man,  throwing  down 
his  rake.  "  Want  to  rent,  do  ye  ?  Tell  you 
how  it  is.  I've  got  a  nice  piece  of  grass  here, 
and  these  men  are  workin'  by  the  day.  You  see 
I  wanted  to  get  it  in."  This  was  meant  to  be 
apologetic. 

"  Perhaps  you'd  better  not  bother  with  me, 
then,"  said  John. 

"  So  you're  old  John  Dennison's  son,  be  you  ? 
Come  from  the  city,  I  s'pose." 

"  You've  got  a  house  down  there  on  the  road 
with  a  bill  on  it  which  says  apply  to  you.  Have 
you  time  to  give  me  some  information  ? " 

"  Gosh,  'pears  to  me  you  aire  in  a  hurry." 

"Not  at  all;  I  have  plenty  of  time,  —  more 
time  than  patience,  as  you  might  say." 

The  old  man  drew  him  on  one  side.  "  Want 
to  hire  for  the  summer,  I  s'pose  ? " 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  I  want  to  do  when  I  know 
what  you  ask  for  the  place." 

"Well,  now,  young  man,  I'll  tell  you  how  it 

5* 


THE   SEARCH 

is,  if  you'll  let  me  do  it  in  my  way.  I  built  that 
stun  house  sixty  year  ago.  There's  a  bit  of 
five  acres  that  I  set  off  to  go  with  it  when  I 
sold  it." 

"  Sold  it  ?     Isn't  it  yours  ?  " 

"  Yes  —  it's  mine.  I  sold  it  but  it  came  back 
to  me.  Country  property  has  a  way  of  doin'  that, 
'specially  when  men  that  buy  haven't  got  much 
patience.  Then,  you  see,  I  rented  it ;  calculated 
to  get  the  interest  on  it.  It's  worth  a  hundred 
dollars  an  acre.  Countin'  the  house  in,  I  expect 
to  get  fifteen  hundred  dollars  for  it.  At  six  per 
cent,  that  would  be  ninety  dollars  a  year.  I've 
got  that  for  three  months  in  the  summer.  Did 
you  think  o'  buyin'  ?  " 

"  Had  a  notion  of  that  kind,"  said  John. 
"Did  you  think  of  selling?" 

"  Sell  anything  I've  got  'cept  the  family  Bible, 
if  I  git  me  own  price.  Let  me  see,  what  kind  o' 
business  did  you  say  you  was  in  ?  " 

"  Real  estate  business  at  present,"  said  John, 
throwing  out  his  chest. 

"  S'pose  you  come  down  to  the  house,"  said 
the  old  man.  "  I  guess  these  men  will  get  along 
for  a  bit  without  my  watchin'  'em.  I  calculate 
you  won't  stay  up  here  more'n  three  months, 
and  I'd  have  to  ask  you  the  same  rate  as  fer  a 
year." 

"If  I  come  here  at  all,"  replied  John,  "  I  shall 
live  here  permanently.  Do  I  understand  you  to 
say  that  you  will  take  fifteen  hundred  dollars  for 
the  house  and  five  acres  ?  " 

53 


MAKING   OF   A   COUNTRY   HOME 

"  That's  what  I'm  askin'.  It's  an  old-fashioned 
house,  but  it's  solid,  and  so  am  I,  young  man." 

"  There  is  some  furniture  in  the  place.  To 
whom  does  that  belong  ?  " 

"  It  belongs  to  me.  There  was  a  pair  of  gad 
ding  young  painters  hired  the  house  last  summer, 
and  I  had  to  furnish  it.  You  don't  do  any  paint 
ing,  do  you  ? " 

"  I'll  make  a  thorough  examination  of  the 
property  and  give  you  an  answer  before  three 
o'clock  to-morrow,"  said  John.  "  You'll  have 
your  hay  in  by  that  time,  I  suppose." 

The  old  man's  eyes  twinkled  a  little.  "  I've 
got  two  hands  yet,"  he  said.  "  One  of  'em  can 
fix  your  business  whenever  you're  ready." 

John  thought  that  one  of  them  might  have 
been  extended  more  cordially,  but  he  only  said : 
"  All  right,  I've  got  two  that  are  disengaged. 
I'll  use  them  both  between  now  and  three  o'clock 
to-morrow.  Good  morning." 

"  Hold  on,  young  man,  you're  a  deal  younger 
than  I  be  and  do  things  on  the  jump.  You'll 
have  to  hire  that  horse  agin  to  come  back 
here." 

"  Certainly." 

"  Well,  if  you  stop  here  you  won't  have  to. 
You  might  as  well  save  a  dollar  where  you  can. 
I'll  send  your  horse  back." 

"Thank  you,"  said  John ;  "  I  might  be  in  the 
way." 

"  I  dare  say,"  replied  the  old  man.  "Young 
men  who  jump  about  as  you  do  are  very  apt  to 

54 


THE   SEARCH 

be,  but  we  might  do  some  business  while  you're 
skipping  round." 

That  was  the  way  in  which  rustic  hospitality 
lumbered  up  in  the  rear  of  business. 

So  John  stayed  there,  and  the  next  day  he 
surprised  himself  and  then  surprised  Lucy. 

But  for  that  we  shall  have  to  go  to  the  next 
chapter. 


55 


CHAPTER    III 

THE    HOUSEHOLDER 

THE  next  morning  John  Dennison  made  a 
careful  and  long  examination  of  the  stone 
house  and  the  grounds.  Mr.  Swart- 
hout,  who  accompanied  him,  was  astonished  at  his 
deliberation  and  particularity.  He  did  not  under 
stand  that  John  was  measuring  the  possible  while 
examining  the  actual  house.  He  saw  him  pace 
the  length  of  the  wooden  paling  in  front,  and 
heard  him  say,  "  It  is  about  two  hundred  feet/* 
The  house  stood  sixty  feet  from  the  road  and 
faced  northeast.  Its  length  was  about  fifty  feet. 
There  were  six  trees  between  the  door  and  the 
gate :  three  chestnuts  of  ample  breadth,  a  beech, 
and  two  elms.  On  the  south  of  the  house  was  a 
bunch  of  cedars,  another  elm,  and  a  mass  of  shrub 
bery.  The  house  itself  was  a  massive,  unadorned 
structure,  with  a  door  in  the  centre  opening  into 
a  square  hall  or  vestibule,  on  the  south  of  which 
a  partition  divided  the  breadth  of  the  house  into 

56 


THE   HOUSEHOLDER 

parlour  and  dining  room.  On  the  north  were  two 
similar  rooms,  one  of  which  had  been  used  as  a 
kitchen  and  the  other  as  a  bedroom ;  intermediate 
were  stairs,  hallway,  and  closets.  The  walls,  of 
red  sandstone,  were  eighteen  inches  thick  and 
twelve  feet  high  to  the  eaves. 

John  mounted  the  stairway  and  found  two  bed 
rooms,  over  the  parlour  and  dining  room,  that 
were  lathed  and  plastered.  They  were  twelve 
feet  square,  and  there  was  space  at  the  northern 
end  of  the  floor  for  two  more.  The  vines  were 
so  thick  about  the  windows  that  they  darkened 
the  rooms,  and  a  thousand  bees  were  humming 
against  the  panes.  The  dust  lay  half  an  inch 
thick  in  corners,  and  the  cobwebs  were  pendulous 
from  the  ceiling.  John  measured  the  spaces  with 
a  two-foot  rule,  marking  the  results  on  a  pad. 
He  poked  his  ringers  into  the  shingles  at  the 
eaves  to  see  if  they  were  rotten.  He  gave  the  old 
man  an  improved  opinion  of  his  keenness. 

Then  they  walked  over  the  grounds,  going 
down  the  long  slope  through  the  clover  and  the 
June  grass,  where  at  one  time  was  a  path  still 
clearly  defined  by  the  lilac,  syringa,  and  witch- 
hazel  bushes  on  either  side.  Between  them  the 
wild  pinks,  the  dandelions,  and  the  red  clover 
were  matted  inextricably  together.  The  boun 
dary  line  of  the  property  on  the  north  was  marked 
by  a  heavy  stone  fence  three  feet  thick  and  four 
feet  high.  John  waded  through  the  grass  and 
inspected  it  curiously.  Its  lower  line  of  stones 
was  made  up  of  large  boulders,  some  of  them  as 

57 


MAKING   OF   A   COUNTRY   HOME 

big  as  a  barrel,  and  their  faces  were  covered  with 
lichen  and  moss.  He  knew  instinctively  that 
several  generations  of  farmers  had  pulled  them 
out  of  the  adjoining  fields  and  piled  them  up 
there.  The  picturesqueness  of  the  sturdy  breast 
work,  a  thousand  feet  long  and  embroidered  with 
blackberry  vines,  did  not  occur  to  him  then.  He 
was  thinking  of  it  as  a  quarry. 

"  You  wouldn't  object,  I  suppose,  if  I  took  the 
upper  end  of  that  down  and  put  a  wire  fence  in 
its  place  ?  It  would  look  better  from  the  road," 
said  John. 

"  Never  object  to  anybody's  buryin'  a  stone  wall," 
said  Mr.  Swarthout.  "If  he  can  stand  it,  I  kin." 

"  I  don't  suppose  there  is  any  drain  from  the 
house  ? " 

"  No,  sir.  We  didn't  build  drains  when  that 
house  was  put  up." 

"  How  far  is  it  to  the  river  ?  " 

"  I  calkilate  about  a  thousand  feet." 

"  Five-inch  drain-pipe,"  said  John,  reflectively, 
"at  twenty  cents  a  length — cost  me  about  a  hun 
dred  dollars." 

"  What  will  ?  " 

"  A  good  drain." 

Mr.  Swarthout  himself  considered.  "  A  man 
at  one-fifty  a  day  will  dig  fifty  feet  of  drain  a  day, 
and  fill  in  a  hundred  a  day.  The  way  I  figure, 
by  leavin'  the  pipe  out,  it  would  cost  you  forty- 
five  dollars.  I  wouldn't  throw  money  away." 

"  No,  I  don't  intend  to  —  at  least  not  on 
doctors." 

58 


THE   HOUSEHOLDER 

"  You  ain't  goin'  to  do  any  manufacturin'  busi 
ness,  aire  you,  in  that  place  ?  " 

"  I  expect  to  live  in  the  place  if  I  buy  it.  I 
am  trying  to  make  up  my  mind  if  it  will  be 
habitable." 

"Say,  look  here,  I  don't  know  what  your  tastes 
aire,  or  what  kind  of  business  you  might  want  to 
carry  on,"  said  Mr.  Swarthout,  "  but  there's  an 
other  place  about  half  a  mile  further  up  the  road 
that  might  suit  you  better.  'Tain't  so  exposed  as 
this,  and  ye  ken  hev  it  fer  half  the  price.  I've 
got  my  horse  out  there ;  s'pose  you  jump  in  and 
take  a  look  at  it." 

"  Very  good,"  said  John,  climbing  into  the 
wagon.  "  I  might  as  well  see  all  your  goods." 

John  was  then  taken  up  the  road,  and  when 
they  arrived  at  a  wild  piece  of  timber  Mr.  Swart 
hout  hitched  his  horse,  and  they  made  their  way 
through  the  underbrush  to  the  bank  of  the  stream, 
where  there  stood  one  of  those  extemporized 
houses  that  tourists  and  sportsmen  sometimes 
throw  together  for  temporary  use.  It  was  a  story- 
and-a-half  house  with  battened  sides,  and  a  chim 
ney  in  the  middle  of  its  peaked  roof.  It  was 
enveloped  in  foliage  and  weeds,  and  had  been 
used  the  year  before  as  an  outing-box  by  a  party 
of  anglers,  who  came  up  for  trout  fishing. 

"  I  think,"  said  John,  "  that  you  might  throw 
that  in  if  I  buy  the  other  place.  I  could  use  it 
as  a  smoke-house." 

"  Well  now,  see  here,  my  friend,  this  is  a  good, 
quiet  spot.  With  a  little  draining  and  filling 

59 


MAKING   OF   A   COUNTRY   HOME 

in,  and  grubbing  out  a  few  trees  and  bushes,  it 
wouldn't  be  such  a  goldarned  bad  place,  after  all, 
if  a  man  wuz  lookin'  fer  quiet  and  wanted  to 
improve." 

John  looked  into  the  house  and  fancied  that  it 
smelt  fishy.  It  then  occurred  to  him  that  the 
wily  old  man  had  brought  him  there  to  enhance  the 
value  of  the  other  place  by  contrast,  which  John 
thought  was  not  such  a  bad  idea,  after  all,  and  he 
might  work  it  himself  with  Lucy.  They  then 
started  back  and  resumed  their  inspection  of  the 
former  place,  John  desiring  to  see  the  property 
from  the  foot  of  the  hill. 

When  they  reached  the  bottom  of  the  declivity 
they  were  among  the  alders  and  dogwood  that 
were  interspersed  with  some  heavier  birches  and 
chestnuts  that  shaded  the  bit  of  meadow.  It  was 
a  very  pretty,  sylvan  spot,  upon  which  the  butter 
cups,  forget-me-nots,  wild  pinks,  and  oxalis  were 
in  full  bloom.  The  little  river,  twenty  feet  wide, 
moved  sluggishly  through  sunshine  and  shadow 
along  the  level  among  the  trees,  fringed  by  her 
baceous  growths,  through  the  openings  in  which 
one  could  see  the  cattle  grazing  on  the  opposite 
slopes  or  lying  partly  hidden  in  the  meadow- 
fesque.  A  cool,  damp  air,  fragrant  with  flowers 
and  hay,  swept  by  the  two  men  lazily,  but  they 
gave  no  heed. 

"  Mr.  Swarthout,"  said  John,  "  I  have  made  a 
pretty  good  estimate  of  your  place.  I'll  tell  you 
what  I'll  do.  I'll  give  you  fifteen  hundred  for  it, 
one  thousand  down,  and  five  hundred  to  remain 

60 


THE    HOUSEHOLDER 

on  bond  and  mortgage  for  five  years  at  six  per 
cent." 

"You  think  of  improvin'  it,  don't  you?" 

"  I  certainly  do.  It  isn't  exactly  what  I  wanted, 
and  is  hardly  fit  for  my  wife  in  its  present  condi 
tion.  But  if  I  buy  it,  it  will  be  for  a  home.  What 
do  you  say  ?  " 

"  Well  now,  I'll  tell  yer.  I  like  to  help  a  man 
who  goes  in  fer  improvements,  and  if  you  don't 
want  to  pull  on  your  capital,  I'll  take  half  down 
and  let  it  run  for  three  years." 

"  No.  I've  made  my  calculations  to  a  cent. 
You've  heard  my  offer.  Five  hundred  is  all  I 
want  to  carry.  It  will  take  two  or  three  thousand 
dollars  to  put  the  place  in  shape." 

"  Hev  you  figgered  to  spend  that  ?  " 

"  The  roof  leaks.  The  well  runs  dry  in  Octo 
ber.  The  bedrooms  are  unfinished.  The  boards 
in  the  back  porch  are  rotten.  The  front  fence 
has  to  be  straightened.  The  ground  is  overrun, 
and  the  house  has  no  drainage.  The  only  things 
about  it  that  recommend  it  are  its  site  and  its  solid 
walls,  but  I  suppose  there  are  plenty  like  it,  if  one 
could  hunt  through  the  county." 

"  Yes,  that's  so,  young  man  ;  but  you  won't 
find  anybody  that's  agoin'  to  throw  in  half  an  acre 
of  garden  planted.  You  see  I  calkilated  to  rent 
it  this  summer,  and  so  I  hed  that  garden  sot 
out." 

"I'll  take  a  look  at  it,"  said  John.  He  found 
an  ample  kitchen-garden  laid  out  with  a  row  of 
raspberry  and  currant  bushes  along  the  stone  wall 

61 


MAKING   OF   A   COUNTRY    HOME 

facing  the  southwest.  The  result  of  this  investi 
gation  put  him  in  a  good  humour,  and  he  went 
back  with  the  old  man  to  his  home  and  there  the 
agreement  was  made. 

"  I  shall  go  down  to  the  village,"  said  John, 
"  have  the  title  looked  into,  make  a  deposit,  and 
sign  the  papers  as  soon  as  the  lawyer  can  make 
them  out  and  my  wife  arrives.  You  see,  I've  got 
a  two-weeks  vacation,  and  intend  to  finish  up  the 
matter  while  I  am  here.  I  shall  sleep  in  the 
house  to-night,  if  you  don't  object.  I  saw  a  cot 
there  and  a  blanket.  Perhaps  you  can  tell  me  of 
a  good  man  that  I  can  hire  by  the  month  for 
general  work  on  the  place." 

<c  You  can't  hire  'em  in  hayin'  time,  unless  you 
pay  'em  more'n  they're  worth." 

"  Then  I'll  pick  up  a  man  in  the  city,"  said 
John;  "it's  full  of  men." 

The  next  morning  about  half-past  four  he  woke 
up  just  as  the  sun,  like  a  spark,  was  burning 
through  the  eastern  trees.  He  sat  a  moment  on 
the  edge  of  the  cot  in  his  own  house,  and  felt  that 
he  had  taken  a  desperate  step.  The  first  ques 
tion  that  he  asked  himself  was  :  "  What  will  Lucy 
think  of  this  ?  Well,  I've  taken  the  fatal  plunge, 
and  I  guess  I've  got  to  make  it  all  right.  A 
woman  expects  a  man  to  bring  her  a  scheme  under 
way,  and  not  do  any  of  the  extra  hustling  her 
self."  That  conclusion  reassured  him,  and  he 
proceeded  to  make  himself  a  cup  of  coffee  in  the 
fireplace.  While  he  was  thus  employed,  he 
heard  the  cornet-voice  of  the  Norwegian  maid 

62 


THE   HOUSEHOLDER 

outside,  and  the  next  moment  her  stalwart  form 
and  good-natured  face  appeared  in  the  doorway, 
a  generous  picture  of  innocent  astonishment. 

"  You  live  at  here  ?  "  she  inquired. 

"Yes,  I  buy  him,"  said  John,  unconsciously 
adapting  himself  to  her  idiom. 

"  So  ?     You  hire  me  ?  " 

"  Yes.     Do  you  work  by  the  day  or  the  week  ?  " 

"  I  work  so  I  get  the  most  money." 

"  What  is  the  most  ?  " 

"  One  dollare  a  day." 

"  All  right.     What's  your  name  ?  " 

"  Tilka." 

"  I'll  hire  you  for  a  week  on  trial.  I  want 
somebody  to  help  me  get  this  house  to  rights  so 
I  can  bring  my  wife." 

"  So  ?     Goot." 

"  Open  all  the  windows  and  the  cellar  door. 
Scrub  all  the  floors.  Carry  all  the  rubbish  out 
side,  and  tell  me  where  I  can  get  a  man  to  cut  the 
grass." 

"  You  buy  me  a  scythe,  I  cut  it  myself." 

He  looked  at  her  with  admiring  awe.  "  You'll 
have  enough  to  do,"  he  said.  "  Can  you  cook  ?  " 

"  You  bring  some  food,  you  shall  see.  Mabbee 
you  hire  my  man." 

"  Oh,  you  have  a  man.  What  can  he  do  ? 
Can  he  take  care  of  a  horse  ?  " 

"  So  well  as  if  he  was  born  in  a  stable.  I  can 
myself  take  care  of  him." 

"  Can  he  plough  ?  " 

"  He  can  that  plough  almost  so  well  as  myself." 


MAKING   OF   A   COUNTRY   HOME 

"  Where  is  he  ? " 

"  Mine  Gott,  he  works  in  the  hay  for  one  dol- 
lare  and  a  half  a  day  for  three  days,  and  then  he 
waits  three  months  for  notting,  because  one  dol- 
lare  and  a  half  a  day  is  too  much.  It  is  better,  I 
think,  to  work  steady  for  not  so  much,  ain't  it  ?  " 

"  Much  better,"  said  John.  "  Bring  him  here 
to-night  so  I  can  see  him." 

As  he  swung  off  down  the  road  he  saw  her  look 
ing  after  him,  with  her  hands  on  her  hips,  a  lusty 
figure,  that  made  him  think  of  one  of  Rubens's 
pictures  that  he  had  seen  somewhere.  The  two- 
mile  walk  at  that  hour  was  a  delight.  The  river 
accompanied  him  the  greater  part  of  the  way,  now 
brawling  and  plashing  with  a  pleasant  noise,  and 
now  spreading  out  hushed  into  shadowy  pools, 
flower- fringed.  He  strode  along  with  an  exhila 
ration  that  was  new  and  unaccountable.  When 
he  thought  of  it  afterward,  he  was  amazed  at  the 
amount  of  work  he  did  that  morning.  But  it  is 
so  with  all  of  us.  When  a  creative  emotion  takes 
possession  of  us,  our  faculties  surprise  us  with 
new  energies,  and  events  imitate  the  rapidity  of 
our  thought. 

John  was  now  mainly  intent  on  preparing  a  sur 
prise  for  his  wife.  Instinctively  he  felt  that  it 
was  his  duty  to  accomplish  instead  of  theorizing 
any  longer,  and  he  proposed  to  himself  to  take 
the  initiative  and  show  Lucy  his  dream  in  full 
swing.  Something  told  him  that  she  was  begin 
ning  to  regard  his  scheme  with  doubts,  and  had 
too  much  affection  for  him  to  tell  him  so.  This 


THE   HOUSEHOLDER 

consideration  more  than  any  other,  perhaps,  in 
fluenced  and  piqued  him  that  bright  morning, 
giving  him  an  urgent  and  slightly  authoritative 
air  that  he  thought  of  afterward  with  some  amuse 
ment. 

It  was  nine  o'clock  when  he  found  the  office  of 
the  lawyer  to  whom  Mr.  Swarthout  had  recom 
mended  him.  As  the  gentleman  was  not  yet  at 
tending  to  business,  John  went  over  to  the  railroad 
station  and  looked  at  the  time-table.  There  was 
a  train  at  ten-thirty.  That  would  get  him  into 
New  York  somewhere  about  noon.  It  would 
take  him  an  hour  to  go  to  the  bank,  get  his  lunch, 
and  an  hour  to  get  back.  He  would  be  in  the 
cottage  again  by  three  o'clock,  prepared  to  do 
business.  He  walked  to  the  largest  store,  found 
that  their  delivery  wagon  would  be  going  up  the 
road  early  in  the  afternoon,  bought  some  grocer 
ies  and  ordered  them  sent  to  the  cottage.  Then 
he  hunted  up  the  lawyer  in  his  office,  a  Mr.  Brad- 
dock,  a  comfortable,  middle-aged  person  with 
gray-white  side  whiskers  and  a  beaming  face. 
He  was  engaged  with  a  toy,  trying  to  get  three 
or  four  globular  little  pigs  into  their  pen.  He 
greeted  his  visitor  pleasantly,  offered  him  a 
wooden  chair,  and  without  relinquishing  the 
puzzle,  listened  indifferently  and  amiably.  "  I've 
searched  the  title  of  that  property  three  times 
within  two  years,"  he  said.  "  There's  an  abstract 
of  it  in  that  pigeon-hole.  You  can  have  it  for 
five  dollars,"  and  Mr.  Braddock  smiled  as  if  legal 
business  were  in  some  way  a  practical  joke  that  he 

65 


MAKING   OF   A   COUNTRY   HOME 

occasionally  indulged  in.     "  Think  of  buying  the 
place  ?  " 

"  I  have  bought  it,"  said  John.  "  Mr.  Swart- 
hout  will  be  here  to-day  to  have  you  make  out  the 
papers." 

A  pleasant  smile  spread  over  Mr.  Braddock' s 
face  as  he  turned  the  puzzle  in  his  hand.  The 
humour  of  making  out  papers  appeared  to  be  a 
pleasant  memory. 

"  Coming  up  here  to  live?  " 

"  Yes  —  hope  to." 

Mr.  Braddock  hunted  the  pigs  a  moment  re 
flectively.  A  mild  recognition  of  the  pleasantry 
of  coming  up  here  to  live  seemed  to  flit  across  his 
face,  as  if  it  were  one  of  those  plaintive  joys  that 
are  pleasant  to  dwell  upon. 

"  I  want  to  catch  a  ten-thirty  train,"  said  John. 
"  If  you  will  give  me  that  search  I  will  pay 
you.  I  expect  to  be  back  here  at  three  o'clock 
to  make  a  deposit,  and  have  the  papers  ready  for 
my  wife's  signature  when  she  arrives." 

Mr.  Braddock  took  the  search  out  of  the  pigeon 
hole.  It  was  neatly  folded  and  indorsed,  but 
rather  dusty.  He  handed  it  to  John,  after  knock 
ing  the  dust  off,  put  the  five  dollars  in  his  vest 
pocket  without  looking  at  it,  very  much  as  if  it 
were  an  allowable  interruption,  and  said  :  — 

"  Have  you  seen  this  new  toy  ?  It's  quite 
ingenious." 

"  No,"  replied  John.  "  I'll  study  it  when  I 
have  more  time.  You  don't  know  of  anybody 
who  has  a  cheap  horse  to  sell,  do  you  ?  " 

66 


THE   HOUSEHOLDER 

Mr.  Braddock  walked  smilingly  and  leisurely 
to  the  door  of  an  adjacent  office,  stood  there  a 
moment  turning  his  pigs  over,  and  then  said  inci 
dentally  as  he  looked  at  the  toy,  "  Benton,  did 
Sully  get  rid  of  that  horse  he  was  trying  to  sell  ?  " 

"  Guess  not,"  said  a  boy's  voice  in  the  next 
room.  "  Saw  him  driving  it  yesterday." 

Mr.  Braddock  came  back  to  his  desk,  took  a 
card  and  wrote  on  it,  "  Salem  Sutton,  horse  for 
sale,"  and  handed  it  to  John,  with  a  superior  and 
complacent  irradiation  that  made  the  whole  trans 
action  look  like  an  amiable  indulgence. 

At  two-twenty  John  was  back  from  the  city  at 
the  depot,  and  not  long  after  three  o'clock  he  and 
Mr.  Swarthout  were  bowling  along  the  road  in 
the  latter's  box-wagon.  As  they  came  along 
John  said  :  "  If  you  can  pick  me  up  a  cheap 
horse  somewheres  that  will  not  be  too  disreputable 
to  take  me  to  the  depot,  and  not  too  proud  to 
plough,  I'd  like  it.  What  ought  I  to  pay  for  a 
makeshift  brute  ? " 

"Better  wait  till  fall,"  said  Mr.  Swarthout. 
"  That's  when  they  get  rid  of  'em  so  as  not  to 
hev  to  feed  'em  all  winter." 

"  But  I  can't  wait  —  must  have  any  kind  of  an 
animal  at  once,"  and  he  pulled  out  the  lawyer's 
card.  "  Do  you  know  that  man  ?  " 

Mr.  Swarthout  could  not  read  it  without  his 
glasses,  and  John  read  it  for  him. 

"  Sale  Sutton.  Oh,  yes,  I  know  both  animals. 
How  high  do  you  want  to  go  ?  " 

"  Don't  know.     I  suppose  I  can  get  a  horse  at 


MAKING   OF   A   COUNTRY   HOME 

one  of  the  car  stables  in  the  city,  a  little  foot-sore, 
for  fifty  dollars ;  that  will  answer  my  purpose  for 
a  while." 

"  Better  lemme  buy  Button's  horse  for  ye. 
He'll  soak  it  to  yer." 

"  Very  good,"  said  John.  "  I'll  leave  it  to 
you." 

About  an  hour  later,  and  just  as  John  was 
washing  himself  in  a  pail  of  well-water  prepara 
tory  to  sitting  down  to  an  extemporized  dinner 
that  the  girl  had  prepared  for  him,  Mr.  Swart- 
hout  drove  in  with  Button's  horse  hitched  to  a 
rather  dirty  and  wobbly  box-wagon,  and  John 
had  to  go  out  and  inspect  the  animal.  It  was  a 
gaunt  and  gothic,  dirty-white  specimen  of  equine 
architecture  thick  about  the  ankles,  large  in  the 
hoof,  slightly  corrugated  in  the  flanks,  and  a  little 
harness-worn  on  the  shoulders.  John  looked  at 
him  in  dismay,  for  he  had  nourished  a  picture  of 
a  pony  in  a  chaise  with  a  woman  in  a  lawn  dress 
driving  in  a  sprightly  manner  to  the  depot  to 
meet  her  husband.  Mr.  Swarthout  interpreted 
his  disappointment  very  correctly. 

"  You  want  a  horse  that's  good  for  three  or  four 
years'  hard  work,  don't  you,  and  that  will  feed  up 
respectable  when  he  gets  where  there's  oats,  and 
you  don't  want  to  pay  over  fifty  dollars  ?  Now, 
that  animal  ain't  no  thoroughbred,  and  Sutton 
sprained  his  off  hind  leg  draggin'  ice  up  the  moun 
tain  last  winter,  but  there's  five  hundred  dollars' 
worth  of  work  in  him  with  good  treatment,  and 
he's  yours  for  thirty-five  dollars.  You  take  my 

68 


THE   HOUSEHOLDER 

advice  and  buy  him.     He's  only  nine  years  old. 
I  know  when  he  was  foaled." 

Somewhat  against  his  inclination,  John  agreed 
to  buy  the  horse,  and  then  Mr.  Swarthout  sug 
gested  that  the  harness,  with  a  stitch  or  two  in 
the  breeching,  was  well  worth  five  dollars ;  and  as 
for  the  wagon,  it  was  sound  in  spoke  and  axle,  and 
if  there  were  new  washers  on  the  wheels  and  a  bit 
of  paint,  it  would  make  a  serviceable  runabout  and 
was  well  worth  twenty-five  dollars.  "  If  I  wuz 
goin'  in  fer  improvements,"  said  the  old  man, 
"  that's  just  the  kind  of  jumper  I'd  snap  at." 

As  John  stood  there  considering,  he  saw  Tilka's 
broad  face  at  the  window,  and  she  beckoned  to  him 
earnestly. 

"  Wait  a  moment,"  he  said,  "  till  I  come  back." 

When  he  was  in  the  house  Tilka  said,  "  How 
much  he  sell  you  for,  that  wagon  ? " 

"He  wants  twenty-five  dollars  for  it,"  said  John. 

"  Mine  Gott,  I  could  buy  him  yesterday  for 
fifteen  dollares." 

"All  right,"  said  John,  "you  buy  him.  I'll 
give  you  a  dollar.  Here,  I  give  you  sixteen  dol 
lars." 

"  I  don't  want  the  wagon,"  said  John,  coming 
out.  "  I'll  take  the  horse  and  the  harness  for 
forty  dollars.  But  I've  got  a  girl  in  there  wants 
to  buy  a  wagon." 

"  I  buy  him,  I  buy  him  !  "  shouted  Tilka,  rush 
ing  out  and  shaking  her  money. 

"Why,  what  will  you  do  with  the  wagon, 
Tilka?"  asked  John. 

69 


MAKING   OF   A   COUNTRY   HOME 

"  Mebbe  I  go  into  piziness  wid  my  man.  I 
could  buy  him  yesterday  for  fifteen  dollares." 

"  Well,"  said  Mr.  Swarthout,  "  you  give  me  the 
fifteen  dollars.  I  can't  afford  to  send  down  here 
to  take  it  away  again." 

When  this  bargain  was  completed,  Mr.  Swart 
hout  coolly  told  John  that  he  had  made  five  dollars 
on  the  operation,  for  he  had  got  the  horse  for 
thirty  dollars.  "  But,"  said  he,  "  you  don't  ob 
ject  to  that,  when  you've  got  a  bargain  ? " 

"  Well,  I'll  tell  you,  neighbour,"  said  John,  "you 
expected  to  make  ten  on  the  wagon  ?  But  you 
ought  to  look  into  a  man's  mouth  as  you  do  into 
a  horse's  when  you  try  that  kind  of  business.  If 
you'll  look  into  mine,  perhaps  you'll  see  that  I've 
got  my  eye-teeth  cut." 

This  seemed  to  tickle  old  Swarthout,  and  he 
went  away  shaking  with  quiet  satisfaction. 

"  Tilka,"  said  John,  as  he  sat  down  at  the  table 
and  admired  her  stalwart  form  while  she  stood 
between  him  and  the  fireplace,  not  unlike  a  beam 
ing  caryatid,  he  thought,  ready  to  uphold  the 
whole  scheme  with  her  sturdy  shoulders,  "  how 
much  of  the  house  did  you  clean  ?  " 

"  I  clean  him  all,"  said  Tilka.  "  I  clean  two 
houses  like  this  in  one  day.  You  do  not  send  me 
a  scythe  so  I  shall  cut  some  grass  this  evening." 

"No,"  remarked  John;  "I  don't  want  such  a 
jewel  as  you  are  cutting  grass.  Where's  your 
man  ? " 

"  He  come  right  away.  I  give  him  his  supper 
here  —  you  don't  care  ?  " 

70 


THE   HOUSEHOLDER 

"  Does  he  know  anything  about  a  garden  ?  " 

"  He  knows  almost  so  much  as  I  do  myself/' 

"  Does  he  drink  ?  " 

"  Shust  some  beer  when  he  can  get.  That  is 
notting,  I  guess.  I  drink  some  myself." 

Half  an  hour  later,  as  John  was  sitting  on  his 
back  porch,  smoking  his  pipe  and  surveying  his 
domain,  Tilka' s  man  made  his  appearance,  and 
John  then  remembered  to  have  seen  him  in  Mr. 
Swarthout's  hay-field.  By  the  side  of  Tilka  he 
looked  a  little  dwarfed  and  submissive.  He  was 
undersized,  sun-browned,  and  unkempt,  but  sin 
ewy  withal,  and  suggested,  as  so  many  of  the  field 
hands  do  in  that  part  of  the  country,  that  all  of 
the  natural  juices  have  either  been  evaporated  by 
exposure  or  concentrated  somewhere  out  of  sight. 

"  What's  your  name  ?  "  asked  John. 

"They  call  me  Mart  up  here.  I  guess  that 
will  do  for  everyday  use.  Martin  is  what  it  was 
in  the  first  place." 

"He  is  that  ashamed  of  his  name  that  is  fool 
ish,"  said  Tilka.  "  I  think  it  is  Martin  Luther 
Smidt,  when  I  was  to  him  married  then." 

"  Very  well,  Martin  Luther,"  said  John,  "  eat 
your  dinner  and  then  come  out  here,  and  I'll  tell 
you  what  kind  of  a  reformation  I  have  in  my 
mind." 

It  was  very  pleasant  out  there  just  at  that  time. 
The  western  glow  gave  a  golden  radiance  to  the 
wild  stretch.  The  swallows  were  darting  in  the 
evening  air.  A  heavy  odour  of  flowers  hung  about 
the  place,  and  the  stillness  was  soothing.  Pres- 


MAKING   OF   A   COUNTRY   HOME 

ently  Mart  came  out  and  stood  with  his  hat  in  his 
hand.  "  I  want/'  said  John,  "  to  get  the  place 
thoroughly  cleaned  up  at  once ;  the  grass  cut ; 
rubbish  burned  ;  fence-posts  straightened  ;  stable 
cleaned  and  patched  up ;  garden  attended  to ; 
horse  cared  for ;  supplies  brought  from  the  town, 
and  between  time,  all  the  help  you  can  give  here 
in  the  house.  Can  you  plough  ?  " 

"  He  can  plough  so  good  like  I  can  myself," 
said  Tilka. 

"  How  about  gardening  ?  " 

"  It  is  so  good  a  garden  as  you  will  not  see  in 
a  mile.  I  make  him  myself,"  replied  the  girl. 

"You  want  all  this  done  in  a  week,  boss?" 
asked  Mart. 

"Yes,"  said  John;  "  I'm  not  going  to  hire  you 
for  a  year  at  a  dollar  and  a  half  a  day.  You  can 
make  up  your  mind  to  that.  I'm  hiring  you  for 
a  week  on  trial,  because  I  like  your  wife.  If  the 
prospect  scares  you,  say  so  at  once,  and  I'll  look 
out  for  some  one  else." 

"  I  guess  he  will  that  do  as  I  think,"  said  Tilka. 
cc  It  is  much  petter,  I  guess.  He  can  that  work 
so  much  petter  as  he  looks ;  but  he  talks  not  so 
mooch  as  me." 

Tilka's  exuberant  vitality  was  a  constant  won 
der  to  John.  She  had  an  unfailing  fund  of 
strength  that  nothing  exhausted,  and  it  always 
manifested  itself  with  a  copious  good  humour  that 
was  admirable.  Her  husband  was  not  unlike  a 
domestic  protegt  that  had  come  obediently  under 
her  executive  wing,  and  was  quite  content  to  let 

72 


THE   HOUSEHOLDER 

her  take  all  the  credit  for  his  methodical  toil,  as 
it  saved  his  breath. 

"  I  suppose  you  can  milk  ? "  John  said  to 
Tilka. 

"  I  milk  four  cows  every  morning  before  break 
fast  for  two  years,"  said  Tilka.  "  I  think  you 
keep  not  more  as  one." 

"Well,  Mart,"  said  John,  "I've  hired  your 
wife.  Suppose  we  consider  you  thrown  in  for  a 
week  for  a  dollar  and  a  half  a  day  ?  " 

Mart  laughed  silently,  and  waited  for  his  wife 
to  answer. 

"  I  guess,"  she  said,  "  he  is  so  good  as  hired," 
and  then  she  laughed,  too. 

Contrary  to  appearances,  John  found  that 
Mart  had  considerable  character  of  his  own, 
which  he  took  good  care  never  to  put  in  the 
way  of  his  wife's  lusty  and  exuberant  egotism. 
It  was  an  understood  arrangement,  apparently, 
that  she  was  to  make  her  vitality  represent  the 
firm.  But  the  moment  Mart  began  to  swing  a 
scythe,  John  saw,  in  the  steady  gait  and  dexterous 
rhythm,  that  he  knew  his  business.  "  How  much 
grass  is  there  on  this  place  ? "  John  asked. 

"  I  cut  a  ton  and  a  half  last  year  off  it,"  said 
Mart.  "  I  guess  it's  about  the  same  this  year." 

"  What's  it  worth  ?  " 

"  Ten  dollars  a  ton." 

"  Fifteen  dollars,"  said  John  to  himself.  "  Why, 
I'm  a  speculator.  How  long  will  it  take  you  ?  " 
he  asked. 

"  I  can  cut  an  acre  and  a  half  a  day,"  said 
73 


MAKING   OF   A   COUNTRY   HOME 

Mart,  cc  if  you  push  me.     I  can  borrow  another 
scythe,    and   my    wife   can   help    me,   if   you're 


anxious." 


"  No.  We'll  take  it  easy  and  clean  up  the  top 
of  the  hill.  The  garden's  the  main  thing.  What 
do  you  want  for  that  ?  " 

"  It's  got  everything  in  it  but  tomato,  egg 
plant,  cauliflower,  and  late  cabbages.  You  can 
get  the  plants  in  town.  There's  peas  there  ready 
to  pick  now,  and  lettuce  and  radishes." 

"  What,  ready  to  eat  ? " 

"Yes,  and  they  ought  to  be  tended  to.  The 
pie-plant  ought  to  hev  been  pulled  a  week  ago. 
You'll  have  strawberries  there  to-morrow." 

"  Strawberries  ? " 

"  Lots  of  'em.  The  patch  was  only  set  out 
last  year.  Do  you  think  of  gardening  ?  " 

"  That's  the  proper  thing  in  the  country,  isn't 
it?" 

"  Do  you  expect  to  sell  ?  " 

"  Can't  sell  much  off  five  acres,  I  guess." 

"  Not  such  an  awful  deal,"  said  Mart,  "  but  the 
lower  part  of  that  field  is  pretty  good  soil,  when 
the  rest  of  the  hill  goes  dry.  I  think  I  could 
squeeze  out  a  couple  of  hundred  dollars  on  celery 
there." 

"  I'll  think  about  it,"  said  John,  as  he  walked 
away. 

The  next  morning  he  let  Mart  drive  him  to 
town  in  the  old  wagon.  He  stopped  at  the 
wheelwright's.  Some  new  washers  and  a  new 
whiffletree  improved  the  conveyance  consider- 

74 


THE   HOUSEHOLDER 

ably,  and  the  wheelwright  suggested  that  a  coat 
of  paint  would  make  it  a  very  respectable  wagon. 
As  for  the  horse,  several  cleanings  and  a  bag  of 
oats  had  surprised  him  into  a  state  of  activity 
that  was  encouraging.  When  they  came  slowly 
back  the  wagon  was  fairly  loaded  with  an  extraor 
dinary  freight,  the  necessity  for  which  had  never 
before  entered  into  John's  calculations.  He 
looked  at  the  bill  with  some  dismay.  There 
were  fifty  items  on  it  for  preliminary  trifles  that 
his  two  confederates  declared  were  absolutely 
necessary.  Among  other  things  he  had  bought 
himself  a  pair  of  overalls,  a  blue  flannel  shirt,  and 
a  stout  pair  of  working  shoes.  Thus  equipped, 
he  went  about  his  outdoor  task  with  a  good  will, 
somewhat  surprising  Mart,  who  was  evidently 
studying  his  employer  keenly,  and  trying  to 
arrive  at  some  kind  of  estimate  of  his  resources 
and  status. 

By  Friday  an  enormous  amount  of  work  had 
been  accomplished,  and  John  set  off*  in  the  after 
noon  for  the  city  to  bring  his  wife.  He  lingered 
a  moment  at  the  front  gate  to  look  at  the  place, 
and  felt  that,  squatty  as  it  was,  it  now  bore  the 
appearance  of  a  veteran  whose  beard  had  been 
shaved  and  hair  trimmed. 

The  hour's  ride  on  the  train  gave  him  time  to 
reflect,  and  he  began  to  study  his  memorandum- 
book.  He  was  rather  appalled,  when  he  saw  the 
sum-total,  at  the  amount  of  money  he  had  already 
spent.  The  items  were  innumerable,  and  the 
page  looked  like  this  :  — 

75 


MAKING   OF  A   COUNTRY   HOME 

Paid  on  Property $1,000.00 

"  Lawyer      .     .     .     ...     .      .  5.00 

"  for  Horse  ........  35«oo 

tt  tt   Wagon       .      .     .     .    V   >.  \V  15.00 

"  "   Harness 5.00 

"  "   Tools    ........  5.00 

"  "   Horse-feed 1.15 

"  "   Provisions 4.80 

"  "   Nails,  tacks,  wire,  etc.    ...  .60 

"  "   Lime,  soap,  soda,  etc.      ...  .45 

tt  tt   Washers  and  whiffletree  .      .      .  1.80 

"  "   Pails,  brushes,  etc .95 

tt  tt   Window-glass  and  putty .      .      .  .48 

"  "    Bucket  and  rope  for  well .      .      ,  1.55 

"  "    Overalls .60 

"  "    Heavy  shoes  and  shirt      .      .      i-X  3.50 

tt  tt    Wall-paper  and  hanging  ...  9«5° 

"  "    Barrel  of  kerosene       ....  6.00 

"  "    Coal 5.50 

"  "   Buggy  hire  and  car  fare    ...  3.80 

"  "   Tilka i. oo 

Due  for  help 15.00 

Miscellaneous  items 5.00 

Total $1,126.68 

Under  the  general  term  of  "  Miscellaneous " 
were  included  such  necessary  trifles  as  curry-comb, 
stable  broom  and  fork,  matches,  screw-driver, 
scythe  and  sickle,  and  wheelbarrow. 

Having  studied  this  grim  setting-forth  to  his 
heart's  content,  he  consoled  himself  with  the  idea 
that  he  had  bought  everything  in  the  world  that 
he  could  think  of,  and  pushing  the  book  into  his 
pocket,  he  went  into  the  smoker  and  began  to 
calculate  the  effect  of  it  all  upon  his  wife.  He 
arrived  in  the  city  about  seven  o'clock  in  the 


THE   HOUSEHOLDER 

evening.  On  the  ferry-boat  he  met  an  old  artist 
acquaintance  of  his  wife's  whom  he  had  not  seen 
for  a  year,  and  who  was  returning,  he  said,  from 
a  tramp  out  in  Jersey.  It  was  a  fine  opportunity 
for  John  to  ventilate  his  new  proprietorship  and 
see  how  it  worked.  "  By  Jove,"  he  said,  "  the 
country  is  beautiful.  I've  just  come  down  from 
my  place,  and  I  had  to  tear  myself  away." 

"  Your  place  ?  Are  you  living  in  the 
country  ? " 

"  Why,  certainly.  You  must  run  up  this  fall 
when  the  autumn  foliage  is  right.  I'll  have  my 
wife  drive  you  around.  She  will  be  delighted  to 
see  you.  Fresh  vegetables  and  milk  will  set  you 
up,  old  fellow.  You  really  must  come  up." 

"  Sure,"  said  the  artist.  "  You  can  depend  on 
me.  Where  is  your  place  ?  " 

"  It's  in  Rockland  County.  All  you  have  to 
do  is  to  come  to  Suffern,  and  let  me  know  when 
you're  coming.  I'll  meet  you  with  the  team." 

This  sounded  so  fine  to  John  that  he  was 
tempted  to  carry  the  experiment  a  little  beyond 
bounds,  and  had  to  restrain  himself. 

He  found  his  wife  sitting  in  dishabille  at  an 
open  window,  fanning  herself,  with  her  face  set  in 
a  reproachful  expression  of  injured  innocence. 
He  bravely  put  his  arm  about  her,  gave  her  an 
unceremonious  kiss,  and  proceeded  at  once  to 
explain  and  apologize. 

"You  see,"  he  said,  "I  wasn't  coming  back 
this  time  without  something  to  show.  What  you 
want,  my  dear,  is  results,  and  you  want  them 

77 


MAKING   OF   A   COUNTRY   HOME 

before  the  summer  is  over.  Well,  you  are  to  get 
up  early  to-morrow,  and  take  the  boy,  and  tell 
me  if  I  have  found  the  thing  of  which  we  are  in 
search.  Did  you  ever  hear  of  the  Mahwah  ?  I 
never  heard  of  it  myself  until  a  few  days  ago." 

"  No,"  said  Lucy.     "  What  is  it,  a  river  ?  " 

"  Yes,  the  most  beautiful  little  river  you  ever 
saw." 

Lucy  looked  out  of  the  window  and  merely 
asked :  — 

"  Is  it  connected  with  the  Gulf  Stream  ?  " 


78 


CHAPTER   IV 

ON    HER    OWN    THRESHOLD 

IT  was  a  shining  June  afternoon  when  John 
Dennison,  accompanied  by  his  wife  and  boy, 
set  out  for  the  country.     He  had  not  told 
her  that  he  had  closed  the  bargain.     Perhaps  he 
knew  best  how  to  deal  with  his  own  wife,  there 
fore  it  hardly  becomes  us  to  criticise  him.     He 
hired   a  conveyance  when  he  got   off  the   train, 
and  they  were  presently  driving  along  the  river- 
bank,  John  calling  attention  to  every  special  fea 
ture  of  beauty  as  they  passed. 

"  There  are  two  places,"  he  said,  "  that  I  want 
you  to  look  at.  One  is  in  the  woods,  and  is  not 
only  remarkably  cheap,  but  is  beautifully  situated 
on  the  river,  away  from  the  road  and  delightfully 
sequestered,  you  know.  The  other  is  more  swell, 
perhaps,  and  nearer  the  town,  but  I  don't  think 
it  will  meet  our  views  so  well.  I  am  going  to 
leave  it  all  to  you  to  decide,  and  I  am  anxious  to 

79 


MAKING   OF   A   COUNTRY   HOME 

see  if  you  will  agree  with  me.  One  of  them  we 
must  have/' 

"  But  isn't  it  a  lovely  country ! "  said  Lucy. 
"  I'd  like  to  wade  in  that  cool  river.  It  reminds 
me  of  Holyoke.  I  do  believe  those  are  elm 
trees ;  and  there  are  pond  lilies.  Tell  the  man 
to  drive  slow.  There  is  an  old  mill  —  as  sure  as 
you  live,  it  is  the  regular  old  thing.  It  makes 
me  want  to  paint.  I  haven't  seen  it  for  years  — 
since " 

"  Well,  what  do  you  stop  for  ?     Since  when  ?  " 

"  Since  you  and  I  sat  on  the  old  flume  and  I 
tried  to  make  you  think  I  was  an  artist." 

"  You  didn't  have  to  try  very  hard,  sweetheart. 
Do  you  see  that  white  house  through  the  trees 
up  the  road,  beyond  the  bridge  ?  That's  where 
Mr.  Swarthout  lives.  He  owns  about  a  hundred 
acres  all  around  here." 

They  were  driving  past  the  old  stone  house 
just  then,  and  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  Tilka  at 
the  corner  of  the  house  watching  out  for  them. 
But  Lucy  was  looking  straight  ahead,  trying  to 
follow  the  direction  of  John's  finger,  and  Tilka 
was  left  behind  in  a  state  of  wonderment.  They 
had  to  stop  several  times  so  that  Lucy  could  jump 
out  and  gather  some  of  the  wild  flowers.  It  did 
his  heart  good  to  see  her  old  sense  of  enjoyment 
come  back.  Poor  girl,  her  eyes  sparkled  and  a 
new  colour  gave  a  pleasant  animation  to  her  cheek. 
She  had  not  had  an  outing  for  two  years. 

When  they  arrived  at  the  wild  spot  where  John 
and  Mr.  Swarthout  had  gone  through  the  jungle 

80 


ON    HER   OWN   THRESHOLD 

to  the  solitary  cottage,  he  said  quite  cheerily  as 
he  assisted  her  and  the  boy  out :  "  We  have  to 
go  through  the  woods  —  there's  no  path.  But 
that  gives  a  fellow  a  fine  opportunity  to  do  his 
own  clearing.  I  always  had  an  idea  that  a  house 
hidden  away  from  the  road  must  be  cosey  and 
quiet." 

Lucy  was  too  much  engaged  with  the  wild 
beauty  of  the  tangle  to  pay  much  attention  to 
him,  but  when  they  came  to  the  house  itself 
John  pointed  to  it  with  mock  pride  and  said, 
"  Now,  there's  a  nook  in  the  wildwood  that  I 
instinctively  felt  would  catch  your  artistic  eye  — 
it's  so  embowered." 

Lucy  struck  an  attitude  of  wonder  and  re 
marked  :  "  That  thing  ?  —  Let's  look  at  the 
other  one." 

"  Now,  my  dear,"  began  John,  "  consider  the 
practical  advantages.  In  the  first  place,  we've 
got  water  at  the  door.  When  the  cellar  is 
pumped  out  —  by  George,  I  forgot  to  look  if 
there  is  a  cellar  —  and  it's  cemented,  the  trees 
cut  away,  the  roots  pulled  out,  the  land  filled  in 
and  ditched  and  drained,  and  a  road  made  through 
the  thickets,  it  will  be  quite  ideal." 

"  Dear  me,  it  makes  me  tired  to  think  of  it," 
said  Lucy.  "Don't  think  about  the  house.  Let  us 
take  a  walk  down  the  bank  and  look  at  the  river." 

"  Don't  you  want  to  see  the  arrangement  of 
the  rooms  ? " 

"  I'll  take  your  word  for  it.     If  you  have  set 

your  mind  on  that  thing " 

81 


MAKING   OF   A   COUNTRY   HOME 

"  But  I  had  rather  you  were  perfectly  satisfied 
before  I  bought." 

"  Well,  of  course,  if  you  think  of  buying  that, 
I  shall  do  my  best  to  be  satisfied.  But  wouldn't 
it  be  cheaper  to  hire  a  tent  ?  " 

"  I  know  it  looks  a  little  lonesome  in  its  pres 
ent  condition.  But  when  we  have  cleared  away 
the  forest  and  redeemed  the  land  and  rebuilt  the 
house " 

But  Lucy  had  taken  her  boy's  hand  and 
was  walking  toward  the  river.  John  followed 
her. 

"  The  place  doesn't  please  you,"  he  said. 
"There  is  no  use  in  our  staying.  We  might 
as  well  go  and  look  at  the  other  spot." 

When  they  entered  the  vehicle  he  continued 
in  the  same  strain  to  praise  the  secluded  wildness 
and  even  to  hint  that  he  had  her  artistic  love  of 
Nature  in  view  in  selecting  it.  She  did  not  en 
courage  him,  but  gave  herself  to  the  luxury  of 
the  drive,  and  when  they  arrived  at  the  stone 
house,  she  remarked :  "  Why,  I  noticed  this 
house  when  we  drove  past,"  and  he  wondered 
if  she  had  seen  Tilka  out  of  the  corner  of  her  eye. 
"  This  is  my  second  choice,"  said  John.  "  We 
have  two  hours  before  our  train  time,  and  we  can 
take  a  leisurely  look  at  it."  As  the  team  drove 
away  he  had  to  explain  to  her  that  it  would  come 
back  for  them  when  they  wanted  it.  "  Now  you 
will  observe,"  he  said,  as  they  went  up  the  path 
and  he  led  the  way  round  to  the  rear  of  the 
house  where  the  view  at  that  moment  was  at  its 

82 


ON    HER   OWN   THRESHOLD 

best,  "  this  place  has  five  acres,  but  it  is  more 
exposed  than  the  other." 

"  What  a  spendid  view  !  "  said  Lucy. 

"  True  —  it  couldn't  be  finer,  but  we  have  to 
consider  if  views  will  return  anything.  Suppose 
we  sit  here  on  the  porch  a  moment  and  I'll  tell 
you  all  about  it." 

Tilka  had  placed  a  commodious  and  comfort 
able  rocker  there.  John  pulled  it  round  gallantly, 
and  Lucy  sat  down.  The  roses  hung  round  her, 
and  the  golden  light  danced  through  upon  her. 
John  thought  that  she  looked  more  like  his  old 
sweetheart  than  she  had  appeared  for  years.  The 
distant  hills  were  rimmed  with  a  soft  purple,  and 
the  valleys  between  poured  a  splendour  of  sunset 
through  that  tipped  everything  with  a  golden 
radiance.  Somewhere  a  song-sparrow  was  bub 
bling  over  with  a  vesper  preludium.  The  little 
river  spun  itself  in  yellow  meshes  down  among 
the  trees.  The  air  was  heavy  with  the  odour  of 
flowers  and  hay. 

"  You  see/'  said  John,  "  this  place  belongs  to 
Pop  Swarthout,  and  there  is  a  Mrs.  Smith  in  it 
taking  care  of  it  for  him.  We'll  go  in  and  look 
at  it  presently  when  you  are  rested." 

"  We  must  not  forget  our  train,"  she  said. 
"  I  shall  be  starved  to  death  before  we  get  to 
New  York,  and  Harold  must  be  very  hungry. 
I  wonder  if  we  could  get  a  glass  of  milk  here  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  guess  so,"  said  John,  quite  indiffer 
ently.  "  Let  me  tell  you  about  this  place.  Are 
you  comfortable  ? " 


MAKING   OF   A   COUNTRY   HOME 

cc  Very.     I  wish  we  had  more  time." 

"  Plenty  of  time,  my  dear.  Do  you  know, 
you  look  just  like  my  old  Holyoke  girl  as  you 
sit  there  under  the  roses.  Confound  it,  I  think 
the  air  up  in  the  woods  by  that  sylvan  cottage 
has  brought  back  your  old  expression.  Well,  as 
I  was  going  to  say,  Swarthout  wants  fifteen  hun 
dred  for  this  place,  but  I  can  get  the  other  for 
five  hundred,  and  I  have  always  said  to  myself 
when  I  found  my  extravagance  running  away 
with  me,  I  will  take  my  wife's  advice." 

"  There  are  many  old  houses  like  this  in  New 
England,"  said  Lucy,  musingly,  as  she  rested  her 
chin  on  her  hand  and  gazed  away  into  the  pur 
pling  west.  "  I  think  it  is  rather  colonial. 
Not  one  of  them  ever  has  a  bay.  I  used  to  won 
der  if  our  grandfathers  knew  how  to  make  a 
bay." 

"  It's  the  easiest  thing  in  the  world  to  put  one 
on.  I'll  show  you  my  plan  for  improving  — 
that  place  in  the  woods." 

"  How  many  rooms  are  there  ?  " 

"In  that  little  cottage  ?  " 

"No  — in  this." 

"I'll  show  them  to  you  —  but  first  we  must 
get  a  bite." 

Tilka  appearing  at  the  door  at  that  moment, 
he  said,  "  Mrs.  Smith,  this  is  my  wife,  Mrs. 
Dennison.  I  want  to  show  her  over  the  house. 
Can  you  give  us  a  bite  of  something  to  eat  ?  " 

The  women  looked  at  each  other  with  quick 
appraisement,  and  Tilka  said :  — 

84 


ON   HER   OWN   THRESHOLD 

"The  dinner  has  that  long  been  waiting  for 
you  that  it  will  soon  be  no  good." 

"  Dinner,"  cried  John,  jumping  up.  "  What 
a  capital  idea !  Come,  my  dear  Harold,  my  boy 
—  dinner.  How  does  that  strike  you  ?  " 

He  gave  his  wife  his  arm  with  a  sudden 
courtliness,  and  Tilka  held  the  door  open  as 
they  went  in.  Even  a  tired  and  hungry  woman 
must  melt  under  this  treatment. 

Tilka  had  prepared  a  banquet.  That  exem 
plary  Norse  woman  rose  in  John's  estimation 
suddenly  to  the  proportions  of  a  gigantic  fairy. 
She  had  obtained  a  white  cloth  somewhere  and 
the  pine  table  disappeared  under  an  inviting 
spread,  with  a  monster  dish  of  lady's-slippers 
garnishing  the  centre  with  dewy  colour.  She 
had  managed  to  roast  a  little  breast  of  lamb  — 
Heaven  only  knows  how  —  before  the  open  fire 
in  the  kitchen.  She  had  fresh  peas  that  melted 
in  the  mouth,  and  little  round  crisp  radishes  ; 
heaped-up  bowls  of  luscious  strawberries  and 
jugs  of  cream  from  Mrs.  Swarthout's  ;  a  white 
loaf  of  home-made  bread  and  a  platter  of  fresh 
butter  from  some  unknown  source,  and  to  cap 
the  climax,  a  lettuce  salad,  cool  and  fresh  and 
odorous. 

Tilka  had  served  everything  at  once  and  stood 
proudly  surveying  her  performance  with  her  bare 
arms  akimbo. 

"Are  you  not  going  to  sit  down,  Mrs. 
Smith  ?  "  asked  Lucy. 

"I  guess  you  talk  some  business,  hey,  ain't 


MAKING   OF   A   COUNTRY   HOME 

it,  while  I  do  my  work  ?  "  said  Tilka,  backing 
out. 

"  Extraordinary  consideration  on  the  part  of 
Mrs.  Smith/'  said  John,  sotto  voce.  "  My  dear, 
I  hope  you've  a  good  appetite." 

"  It's  a  luxury  to  eat  a  dinner  that  somebody 
else  has  prepared,"  said  Lucy.  "  Where  do  you 
suppose  she  got  those  splendid  berries  ?  " 

"  Why,  she  picked  them  in  the  back  yard. 
That  woman  would  make  her  fortune  if  she  had 
a  piece  of  land  —  like  that  we  saw  in  the  woods 
—  and  it  was  all  cleared  and  drained.  Don't 
hurry  —  plenty  of  time.  I  want  you  to  walk 
down  the  hill  and  see  the  grove  and  the  river 
and  the  garden  and  the  stable." 

"  Why,  is  there  a  grove  —  and  a  river  —  and  a 
garden  —  and  a  stable  ?  " 

"  You  bet,"  said  John.  "  Every  modern  con 
venience  except  hot  and  cold  water,  stationary 
tubs,  and  gas.  Let  me  help  you  to  some  more 
of  these  peas  —  they,  too,  are  out  of  the  back 
yard." 

"  I'm  afraid,"  said  Lucy,  "  that  we  are  robbing 
Mrs.  Smith." 

"  Very  well,"  said  John,  "  if  you  have  any 
conscientious  scruples  of  that  kind,  watch  me  — 
and  Harold.  You  do  the  talking." 

Presently,  when  the  meal  was  finished,  John 
took  his  wife  through  the  rooms,  venturing  to 
disparage  them  a  little  with  great  delicacy.  The 
large  chamber  overhead  with  its  rose-embroidered 
windows  and  its  meagre  but  tidy  furniture,  with 

86 


ON   HER   OWN   THRESHOLD 

a  bed  on  which  was  a  spotless  and  restful  white 
counterpane,  caught  Lucy's  eye.  "  What  a  fine 
room  we  could  make  of  this,  John,  if  it  only  had 
a  bay  window." 

"  Do  you  think  so  ?  You  should  have  seen 
the  rooms  in  the  other  house." 

They  inspected  the  kitchen  and  walked  out  to 
the  brow  of  the  hill,  and  Lucy  showing  some  signs 
of  weariness,  John  led  her  back  to  the  porch 
again.  She  would  have  given  much  to  have 
been  able  to  take  her  corset  and  her  heavy  shoes 
off  and  sit  in  that  rocker  for  the  rest  of  the  even 
ing.  But  what  does  a  man  ever  know  of  these 
things  ? 

"  You  don't  say  much,  my  dear,"  remarked 
John.  "  I've  been  waiting  to  have  you  decide. 
Can't  you  make  up  your  mind  ? " 

"  You  prefer  the  other  place,  don't  you  ?  " 

"  I'm  going  to  leave  it  all  to  you." 

"Well,  as  I  feel  a  little  tired,'we  can  talk  it  all 
over  as  we  go  back  to  the  city." 

"  Oh,  no,  let  us  make  up  our  minds  while  we 
are  on  the  spot,"  said  John. 

"  Mine  is  made  up,"  said  Lucy.  "  I  much 
prefer  the  house  in  the  woods." 

"  What  —  you  don't  mean  it  ?  " 

"  Yes.  In  the  first  place,  it's  so  sequestered, 
and  you  have  set  your  mind  on  it." 

He  looked  at  her  with  considerable  astonish 
ment.  "  You  are  not  serious,"  he  said. 

She  kept  her  face  very  straight,  though  she 
turned  her  head  a  little  away.  "Yes.  The 

8? 


MAKING   OF   A   COUNTRY   HOME 

other  place  has  grown  on  me   since    I've   been 
here." 

"  Oh,  but  I'm  not  at  all  set  on  the  other  place, 
my  dear." 

"  What  —  not  set  on  the  filling  and  ditching 
—  and  grubbing —  Why,  John,  do  you  know,  I 
think  it  would  be  quite  a  novelty  to  live  in  a  bath 
house." 

Then  she  broke  down  and  began  to  shake  a 
little,  and  John  began  to  whistle. 

"  Sweetheart,"  he  said,  "  I  give  it  up." 

"Oh,  don't,"  she  replied.  "You  .brought  me 
to  this  dreadful  place  so  that  I  would  appreciate 
the  other,  didn't  you  ?  For  Heaven's  sake,  let 
us  go  back  to  the  sylvan  spot  in  the  wild  wood." 
Then  she  put  her  handkerchief  over  her  mouth, 
and  there  was  nothing  left  for  John  to  do  but  to 
pull  it  away,  at  which  she  said  quite  earnestly :  — 

"  It's  all  right,  John.  Now  let  us  catch  our 
train.  I'd  like  very  much  to  spend  a  day  or  two 
here,  but  I  must  get  back  where  I  can  take  my 
things  off  and  think  it  all  over." 

"  You  don't  have  to  go  back  to  do  that,"  ex 
claimed  John.  "  I  smuggled  your  wrap  and 
slippers  into  my  travelling  bag.  They  are  up  in 
your  chamber.  You  can  make  yourself  comfort 
able  in  your  own  room  and  get  a  good  night's 
rest,  and  be  up  with  the  lark  to  eat  a  breakfast 
that  will  be  waiting  for  you  without  your  getting 
it.  It's  all  yours,  and  all  you  have  to  do  is  to 
take  possession  and  put  your  name  on  the  bond. 
It's  all  done  and  fixed  beyond  recovery." 

88 


ON   HER   OWN   THRESHOLD 

"  But  Mrs.  Smith  ?  " 

"  Don't  say  a  word  against  Mrs.  Smith.  She 
is  a  fireproof  brick  hired  for  a  week  and  subject 
to  your  orders.  Now  go  up  and  make  yourself 
comfortable,  and  hurry  down.  I'm  going  to  give 
Harold  a  ride  on  the  back  of  our  horse.  Did 
you  catch  that?  —  our  horse,  he's  of  Arabian 
blood.  Wait  till  you  see  him." 

Lucy  stood  alone  in  the  chamber,  gazing 
thoughtfully  through  the  roses.  To  be  so  sud 
denly  converted  from  a  guest  to  a  hostess  and 
mistress  was  a  little  confusing.  There  was 
something  like  a  suspended  pout  on  her  lip. 
John,  at  the  last  moment,  had  left  her  out  of  the 
determining  act  and  consummated  their  scheme 
in  his  own  way.  The  pout  grew  a  little  more 
distinct.  Suddenly  she  heard  the  voice  of  Harold, 
and  she  pulled  the  roses  at  the  window  aside  and 
looked  out.  The  boy  was  seated  on  the  white 
horse,  his  father  holding  him  on  as  the  animal 
came  slowly  through  the  grass  under  the  window 
with  his  head  down.  She  heard  John  telling  the 
boy  that  it  was  a  work  horse,  but  that  his  mother 
was  going  to  have  a  pony  and  then  she  would  let 
him  drive  it,  wouldn't  that  be  fine  ? 

The  evening  light  fell  across  the  group  pleas 
antly,  and  they  looked  very  happy.  The  pout 
slowly  disappeared.  After  all,  she  said,  he  is 
thinking  only  of  me.  Then  she  hurriedly  put  on 
her  wrap  and  went  down. 

It  is  worth  noting  that  a  change  of  attire  some 
times  affects  a  woman's  disposition.  Lucy  came 


MAKING   OF   A   COUNTRY   HOME 

out  quite  buoyant  and  beaming.  When  John 
said  apologetically  that  the  horse  was  only  a  "  pre 
liminary  plug  "  to  do  the  rough  work,  she  patted 
him  on  the  neck  and  said  she  thought  he  was 
"just  lovely." 

The  June  twilight  fell  on  them,  walking  to 
gether  under  the  trees ;  the  stars  came  out ;  the 
frogs  began  their  evening  hymn  before  Harold 
evinced  signs  of  sleepiness  and  they  returned  to 
the  house.  John  had  to  show  her  every  point 
of  vantage,  and  colour  it  with  his  ideal  improve 
ment.  When  at  last  they  sat  down  in  the  cham 
ber  and  Harold  was  put  to  bed,  Lucy  said, 
"  Now  then,  John,  you've  shown  me  everything 
except  the  accounts." 

Out  came  the  pad.  She  looked  it  over  some 
what  rapidly  and  said  :  "Are  you  quite  sure  that 
it  will  bring  all  the  results  that  you  have  been 
dreaming  of  so  long  ?  I  almost  tremble  for  fear 
you  will  be  disappointed." 

"And  so  I  might  be,  if  it  were  a  dream.  But 
it  isn't.  It's  a  plain  matter  of  fact.  I've  kept  to 
the  mathematics  of  it  with  my  teeth  set,  and  I  am 
determined  that  it  shall  be  no  dream  for  you. 
The  great  job  for  me  will  be  to  make  it  worthy 
of  you." 

That  was  quite  rhetorical  for  John,  and  to  take 
the  edge  off,  he  paraded  his  pad. 

"  Listen,"  he  said.  "  I've  calculated  that  we 
cut  our  rent  down  to  fifty  dollars  a  year.  That 
is  the  interest  on  five  hundred  dollars  and  the 
taxes  added.  Just  take  that  piece  of  paper  and 


ON    HER   OWN   THRESHOLD 

pencil.  I'd  like  to  see  what  you  make  it.  Have 
you  got  rent,  fifty  dollars  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Lucy.     "  Rent  —  fifty  dollars." 

"  Then  put  down  help,  man  and  woman, 
twenty-five  dollars  a  month  —  that's  three  hun 
dred  a  year —  Have  you  got  that  ?  " 

"  Yes,  but  where  is  the  help  to  come  from  at 
that  price  ? " 

"Never  mind  that  now — we'll  ask  Mrs. 
Smith  about  it  to-morrow.  Put  down  commuta 
tion  at  nine  dollars  a  month  —  that's  a  hundred 
and  eight,  isn't  it  ?  " 

"  Yes  —  a  hundred  and  eight " 

"  Horse  and  cow  at  a  maximum  —  say  one 
hundred  and  fifty  a  year." 

"  Gracious,"  said  Lucy,  "  I  didn't  know  that 
cows  cost  anything  to  keep  in  the  country  ! " 

"  They  don't,  after  you've  been  in  the  country 
long  enough.  Now  add  living  expenses  —  say 
twelve  hundred  a  year.  What  do  you  make  it  ?  " 

"  I  make  it  one  thousand  eight  hundred  and 
eight  dollars.  My,  country  life  comes  high, 
doesn't  it  ? " 

"  True  —  but  consider  what  we  are  getting  for 
the  money.  There  are  some  things  that  do  not 
figure  up  well.  First  of  all,  we've  our  own 
home.  Then  we  have  our  girl  back  where  she 
belongs — out  of  the  kitchen.  Finally  we  have 
a  prospect.  There  isn't  a  mathematician  on 
earth  can  put  that  down  in  numerals.  Every 
srroke  of  work  we  put  upon  this  place  is  like 
putting  money  into  the  savings  bank.  I  feel  like 

91 


MAKING   OF   A   COUNTRY   HOME 

going  and  hammering  a  nail  in  somewhere  now 
—  don't  you  ?  Then  there  is  something  more, 
but  I  don't  figure  on  it  yet.  I  only  contemplate 
it  as  an  alluring  margin.  That  garden  ought  to 
pay  our  interest  and  cut  our  living  expenses 
down  one-half.  We've  been  figuring  on  a  cow 
as  an  expensive  luxury,  but  she  might  turn  out 
to  be  a  handy  producer." 

"  But,  John,"  and  this  was  said  with  a  hesitat 
ing  reproach  in  it.  "  You  haven't  said  a  word 
about  the  sixty  miles  of  railroad  travel  every  day ; 
the  ride  from  the  station  in  all  weathers  ;  the  pos 
sibility  of  accidents." 

"  No,"  said  John,  carelessly ;  "  and  I  haven't 
said  a  word  about  the  luxury  of  doing  one's  duty 
when  it  isn't  a  hardship,  and  taking  the  man's  load 
on  one's  own  shoulders  and  redeeming  the  prom 
ise  that  I  made  to  you  when  you  took  me  for 
better  or  worse.  I  haven't  said  a  word  about  the 
roses  that  will  come  back  into  your  cheeks,  and 
the  songs  that  will  begin  to  nestle  around  your 
heart  again  and  break  out  from  our  baby's  lungs. 
I  haven't  said  a  word  about  the  inspiration  there 
is  in  work  and  danger  and  drudgery  when  love 
stimulates  them  and  victory  stands  ready  to 
crown  it  all.  Do  you  think  I  can  command  the 
language  to  do  these  things  justice  ?  " 

"  Why,  yes,"  replied  Lucy.  "  Do  you  know 
that  as  you  stand  there  now,  it  seems  to  me  that 
you  would  have  made  a  splendid  exhorter.  Mrs. 
Smith  will  think  you  are  preaching." 

John  laughed.  "  I  guess  she  takes  me  for  a 
92 


ON   HER   OWN   THRESHOLD 

missionary  already  and  expects  me  to  convert  her 
man." 

"  Then  I'll  encourage  her  in  the  morning  by 
telling  her  how  you  converted  me.  Now,  I'm 
going  to  bed,  for  we  have  to  catch  the  train  in 
the  morning." 

"  Can't  you  get  that  infernal  train  out  of  your 
head  ?  You're  not  half  converted.  If  you  were, 
you'd  go  to  bed  and  sleep  without  a  thought  of 
trains.  You  would  know  that  I  will  go  to  the 
city,  bundle  up  all  our  effects,  and  dump  them  at 
your  feet  here,  and  all  you  have  to  do  until  they 
arrive,  is  to  take  your  boy  by  the  hand  and  rest 
yourself  among  the  roses,  and  let  Mrs.  Smith  do 
the  walking  with  her  stalwart  legs.  If  you  are 
not  converted  to  that  extent,  then  have  I  preached 
and  plotted  for  nothing." 

It  was  not  so  easy  to  go  to  sleep  with  all  these 
things  tumbling  over  each  other  in  her  mind,  but 
somehow  the  soft,  cool  air,  with  its  burden  of  rose 
bloom,  swept  past  her  steadily  as  she  lay  on  her 
pillow,  and  presently  she  sank  into  a  half-con 
sciousness  that  love  was  deliciously  fanning  her 
with  a  new  wing. 

The  next  day,  being  without  John's  stimulating 
presence,  she  set  about  her  own  unbiassed  scrutiny, 
as  a  woman  will.  She  inspected  everything  care 
fully,  noted  that  the  kitchen  had  no  shelves,  that 
the  vestibule  was  dark  and  narrow,  that  the  ceil 
ings  were  low,  that  all  the  water  had  to  be 
carried  from  the  well,  that  the  boards  in  the  floor 
were  not  altogether  level,  and  that  the  plaster  was 

93 


MAKING   OF   A   COUNTRY    HOME 

smoky.  Then  she  went  out  to  see  how  the 
house  looked  from  the  road,  and  could  not  help 
wondering  how  it  looked  to  other  persons  who 
passed  by.  Did  it  strike  them  as  a  gentleman's 
place  ?  It  was  certainly  very  old-fashioned  and 
plain  and  just  a  little  bit  lonely.  What  would 
her  friend  Kate  say  to  it  ? 

While  she  stood  there,  leaning  thoughtfully 
upon  the  awry  fence,  a  buggy,  driven  leisurely 
by  an  elderly  man,  stopped  in  the  roadway  oppo 
site  the  gate.  The  man  had  on  his  knees  a  bag 
containing  something.  He  leaned  out  of  the 
vehicle  and  saluted  her  with  what  she  thought 
was  a  superfluous  amount  of  smiling  good  nature. 

"  Good  morning,  Mrs.  Dennison,"  he  said ;  "  I 
am  the  lawyer  that  your  husband  may  have  men 
tioned  to  you.  Braddock  is  my  name.  Do  you 
know  anything  about  cats  ?  " 

"  Cats  ? "  repeated  Lucy,  with  some  wonder 
ment,  as  if  she  had  misunderstood  him. 

He  held  up  the  bag  smilingly,  and  Lucy  saw 
that  something  inside  it  was  moving. 

"  They  say/'  said  Mr.  Braddock,  "  that  if  you 
carry  a  cat  in  a  close  bag  for  three  miles  and  turn 
the  bag  around  several  times,  the  animal  will  not 
find  her  way  back.  Do  you  know  anything 
about  it  ? " 

"  No,  I  don't,"  replied  Lucy,  a  little  tartly. 
"  What  kind  of  a  cat  is  it  ?  " 

"Just  the  ordinary  kind.  Black  cat.  I'm 
very  much  interested  in  the  experiment." 

"  Is  it  a  good  ratter  ?  "  asked  Lucy. 
94 


ON    HER   OWN   THRESHOLD 

"  Just  the  ordinary  ratter,"  said  Mr.  Braddock. 

"  Why  not  give  it  to  me,  poor  thing  ?  I  am 
very  fond  of  cats,  and  I  may  need  it  in  this  old 
house." 

"  Yes,  you  will  need  a  cat,"  said  Mr.  Braddock, 
with  an  irradiating  smile  of  satisfaction.  "  These 
old  country  houses  swarm  with  rats.  I'll  send 
you  up  a  cat.  How  do  you  like  tortoise  shells  ? 
—  they  are  generally  considered  good  ratters. 
Perhaps  you  would  prefer  a  Maltese  cross  ?  " 

The  man  was  evidently  insane.  Lucy  stepped 
toward  the  gate  for  security.  "  What  has  a 
Maltese  cross  to  do  with  cats  ? "  she  asked. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  replied.  "  I  should 
have  said  a  cross  of  Maltese  stock.  I  suppose 
you  intend  to  improve  the  old  house  ? " 

"Why,  yes  —  such  is  my  husband's  intention." 

Mr.  Braddock  seemed  to  glow  with  exultant 
satisfaction  at  the  idea  of  improving  the  house. 

"  Just  so,"  he  remarked  ;  "  modernize  it,  I  be 
lieve,  is  the  word."  And  he  put  his  hand  softly 
to  his  mouth,  as  if  to  restrain  a  too  exuberant 
sense  of  humour.  "  I'll  send  you  up  a  modern 
cat,  Mrs.  Dennison." 

Lucy's  eye  flashed  a  little  at  his  benignant 
irony.  "  Don't  rob  yourself,"  she  said.  "  My 
husband  will  probably  get  a  mastiff  to  protect 
the  place,  from  — rats,  and  other  things " 

"Just  so.  Mastiff  for  rats,"  and  up  went  the 
back  of  his  hand  to  his  mouth  to  check  his  hilar 
ity,  as  if  mastiffs  for  rats  was  one  of  those  dear 
old  witticisms  that  fill  the  heart  with  kindly  mer- 

95 


MAKING   OF   A   COUNTRY   HOME 

riment.  "  We  are  going  to  lose  one  of  our  oldest 
inhabitants,  Mrs.  Dennison  —  Jacobus  Sneider  — 
he  lives  three  miles  up  the  road  and  is  on  his 
death-bed." 

Lucy  noticed  that  his  eyes  twinkled  as  he  said 
it. 

"  I  was  going  up  to  make  out  his  will.  They 
will  die,  you  know." 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  Mr.  Sneider  ?  " 

"  Nothing.  He's  just  doing  the  ordinary 
dying.  You  see  he's  ninety  odd  years  old  and 
he  has  lived  here  all  his  life.  Death  has  no  sur 
prises  for  such  a  man.  In  most  cases  the  distinct 
line  between  living  and  dying  is  obliterated  long 
before  the  end  approaches.  I  have  a  paper  that 
needs  your  signature,  Mrs.  Dennison.  Perhaps 
I'd  better  stop  and  have  you  sign  it." 

Lucy  wondered  if  this  was  a  ruse  to  get  into 
the  house  while  her  husband  was  away.  But  be 
fore  she  was  aware  of  it,  Mr.  Braddock  put  the 
bag  containing  the  cat  under  the  seat,  got  out, 
hitched  his  horse,  with  an  indulgent  smile,  and 
she  was  compelled  to  accompany  him  to  the 
house.  As  he  held  the  parchment  down  with 
one  hand  on  the  table  and  pointed  with  a  long 
ringer  of  the  other  hand  to  a  spot  where  Lucy 
was  to  write  her  name,  he  remarked  with  a  win 
ning  complacency,  "  The  women  told  me  that  I 
should  have  put  the  cat  in  a  covered  basket  in 
stead  of  a  bag.  It  doesn't  strike  you,  my  dear 
madame,  that  such  a  trivial  difference  would  make 
any  change  in  the  experiment,  does  it  ? " 

96 


ON   HER   OWN   THRESHOLD 

Lucy  looked  at  him  with  that  monitorial  air 
of  reprimand  that  comes  so  easily  into  a  woman's 
face. 

"  Did  you  say  that  your  friend  up  the  road 
was  dying  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  I  may  have  mentioned  it,"  he  replied,  with  a 
new  smile  that  seemed  to  indicate  that  dying  had 
touched  some  pleasant  chord  of  humour  in  him. 
"  You  have  made  up  your  mind  to  settle  here 
among  us,  I  believe." 

"  Isn't  that  question  rather  superfluous,  Mr. 
Braddock,  after  I  have  signed  the  paper  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  it  is  —  perhaps  it  is,"  said  Mr. 
Braddock,  as  he  waved  the  bond  in  the  sunlight 
to  dry  the  name.  "  I  shall  assume  that  you  in 
tend  to,  and  will  send  you  up  the  cat." 

She  watched  him  with  staring  curiosity  as  he 
went  back  to  the  buggy.  In  spite  of  his  beaming 
affability,  he  left  behind  him  the  impression  that 
he  was  laughing  in  his  sleeve  at  John's  experi 
ment,  and  Lucy  could  not  help  feeling  a  sudden 
hatred  for  him.  "  I  believe,"  she  said,  "the  man 
is  half-witted."  She  saw  him  climb  into  his 
buggy  and  deliberately  turn  round  the  bag  con 
taining  the  cat,  and  then  take  his  hat  off  and 
salute  her  before  he  started  the  horse. 

"  Tilka,"  she  said,  "  are  there  any  rats  in  this 
old  house  ? " 

"  Rats  ?  "  exclaimed  Tilka.  "  I  guess  there 
are  not  so  much  rats  as  one,  else  I  find  him." 

The  girl  had  a  large  basket  on  one  arm  and  a 
tin  pail  in  her  hand.  "  I  think,"  she  said,  "  you 

97 


MAKING    OF   A   COUNTRY    HOME 

come  to  the  garden  with  me  and  see  what  it  will 
grow  for  you." 

Just  as  they  started  out  to  find  the  garden,  a 
woman  in  a  sun-bonnet,  black  dress,  and  white 
apron  appeared  at  the  stone  fence  and  accosted 
them  with  a  call.  She  had  evidently  come  across 
the  field  instead  of  taking  the  road  and  was  stopped 
by  the  breastwork. 

"It's  Mrs.  Swarthout,"  said  Tilka.  "She 
make  call  on  you,  I  think." 

"Aire  you  Mrs.  Dennison?"  called  the  woman. 

Lucy  put  her  hand  to  her  mouth,  trumpet- 
fashion,  and  called  back  :  "  Yes,  I  am.  Who  are 
you?" 

"  I  am  Mrs.  Swarthout.  I  came  over  to  see 
about  the  milk." 

Lucy  looked  at  Tilka. 

"  It  is  the  pay  for  the  two  quarts  of  milk  what 
I  have  got,"  said  the  girl. 

"  Will  you  not  come  in,  Mrs.  Swarthout  ? " 
called  Lucy.  "  We  have  no  telephone." 

"  No,  I  thank  you,"  Mrs.  Swarthout  called 
back.  "  I  only  came  over  to  see  about  the  milk. 
You  had  two  quarts." 

"  Gracious,"  said  Lucy.     "  Did  we  ?  " 

There  was  a  space  of  seventy-five  feet  interven 
ing  between  the  conversing  women,  and  a«  Mrs. 
Swarthout  did  not  intend  to  come  any  closer,  Lucy 
must  advance  or  continue  to  shout.  She  rather 
resented  Mrs.  Swarthout's  irrational  proceeding, 
and  held  her  ground.  Tilka  had  no  such  scruples. 
She  dropped  her  basket  and  pail  and  said  :  — 


ON    HER   OWN   THRESHOLD 

"  You  give  me  ten  cent  for  the  two  quarts  and 
I  fix  him." 

"  Is  that  what  the  woman  is  screaming  about  ?  " 
zsked  Lucy,  as  she  felt  in  her  pocket. 

Tilka  laughed  as  she  took  the  ten  cents.  "It 
is  goot  business,  I  think." 

"  Rather  picayune  business,"  said  Lucy,  as  she 
went  off  toward  the  garden. 

It  thus  happened  that  her  introduction  to  two 
important  personages  in  the  little  drama  she  was 
to  play  was  rather  unfortunate,  and  as  is  often  the 
case,  she  utterly  misinterpreted  both  the  lawyer 
and  the  farmer's  wife  through  her  first  impressions 
of  them. 


99 


CHAPTER   V 

THE    INCIPIENT    GARDEN 

"11  COVING  in,"  to  use  Lucy's  phrase,  was 
^^y  I  an  episode  of  ruction  and  destruction. 
-L  *  -•-  The  men  who  had  been  hired  to  bring 
the  chattels  from  the  station  in  a  capacious  farm 
wagon,  drawn  by  a  team  of  stalwart  horses,  in 
vested  the  affair  with  the  responsibility  and  im 
portance  of  a  crisis.  It  took  four  men  to  do  what 
two  men  would  have  done  in  the  city.  The  team 
was  stalled  twice  on  the  road,  and  the  neighbours 
turned  out  with  fence  rails  and  crowbars  and 
extricated  it ;  small  boys  rose  out  of  the  earth, 
cavorted  round  like  young  Indians,  and  followed 
the  procession  up  to  John's  gate  with  wild  hopes 
of  a  breakdown.  So  that  when  the  cavalcade 
arrived  in  the  road  opposite  the  house,  Lucy  and 
Tilka  came  hurriedly  out  to  learn  what  the  noise 
was  about,  and  saw  a  council  of  war  being  held, 
and  were  told  that  the  fence  would  have  to  be 

100 


THE   INCIPIENT- 

taken  down  to  drive  in.  Lucy  stared  at  her 
household  goods  heaped  up  recklessly  into  a  top- 
heavy  pyramid,  with  Harold's  baby-wagon  cling 
ing  to  the  top,  and  mattresses,  chairs,  and  many 
articles  of  private  worth  stuck  on  in  ludicrous 
defiance  of  their  associations,  and  exposed  to  the 
appraisement  of  the  county.  "  Oh,  dear,"  she 
said,  "  why  did  not  John  get  a  covered  van  ?  " 

She  stood  there  and  watched  with  trepidation 
the  tremendous  operation  of  getting  into  the 
grounds.  The  noise  and  animation  lifted  the 
performance  into  what  is  called  at  the  theatre  a 
situation  of  suspense.  All  she  could  do  was  to 
hold  her  breath.  The  horses  with  their  swaying 
load  were  to  get  up  the  little  bank  that  separated 
the  grounds  from  the  road.  It  was  a  thrilling 
moment.  The  preparations  went  on  with  general 
vociferations  and  some  oaths,  the  small  boys  look 
ing  on  from  the  neighbouring  trees.  She  set  her 
teeth  and  clenched  her  hands.  A  great  shout 
went  up,  a  whip  cracked,  men  put  their  backs  to 
the  wheels,  the  horses  plunged  and  reared,  the 
load  swayed,  the  wagon  creaked,  two  wheels  were 
off  the  ground,  and  amid  a  din  of  yells,  it  came 
up  the  bank  into  the  enclosure  and  drew  up  at 
her  door. 

The  customary  way  of  telling  such  a  story  as 
this  is  to  omit  these  details.  But  in  the  present 
case  it  cannot  be  done,  because  the  narrator  is 
dealing  with  the  building  of  a  home  and  not  with 
the  building  of  a  story.  Among  ordinary  persons 
like  ourselves,  there  is  a  hallowed  tradition  that 

101 


JMAK1NG   op   A   COUNTRY   HOME 

three  moves  are  as  bad  as  a  fire.  Lucy  had 
arrived  at  the  second  stage  of  this  experience, 
which  may  be  said  to  be  —  if  measured  by  its 
tears  —  equal  to  an  inundation.  When  she  saw 
her  chattels  unloaded  there  were  shattered  idols. 

"  Oh,  John,  John,"  she  said,  "  you  put  that 
Japanese  punch-bowl  that  my  uncle  gave  me  into 
the  barrel  with  the  smoothing  irons  and  the  jar  of 
chow-chow.  How  will  I  ever  put  the  pieces 
together  ?  " 

"  And  we  have  lost  the  chow-chow,  I  suppose," 
said  John. 

"  No,"  replied  Lucy,  with  dire  resignation ; 
"the  chow-chow  was  all  caught  by  mother's 
picture." 

A  few  minutes  later  she  called  his  attention  to 
the  astonishing  fact  that  he  had  nailed  her  mo 
rocco  prayer-book,  with  a  spike  through  the  mid 
dle  of  it,  to  the  bottom  or  top  of  a  packing-box. 

"  Moving  in  "  brought  into  very  clear  relief  the 
changed  conditions.  Physical  stress  accompanied 
everything.  Chattels  that  in  the  city  seemed  to 
fit  themselves  easily  into  their  places,  and  come 
noiselessly  up  the  lift  and  move  smoothly  through 
doors,  now  stuck  fast  in  narrow  places,  broke 
down  the  flooring,  and  looked  ungainly  when  they 
were  under  low  ceilings. 

In  the  midst  of  this  chaos,  as  they  sat  down  to 
breathe,  Lucy's  mind  seemed  to  wander  from  the 
condition  of  the  furniture  to  the  condition  of  her 
neighbours.  "  What  kind  of  people,  John,  have 
we  come  among  ?  The  lawyer  came  here  for  me 

1 02 


THE   INCIPIENT   GARDEN 

to  sign  the  bond  while  you  were  gone,  and  he 
talked  about  nothing  but  cats.  Do  you  think  it 
is  safe  to  have  an  insane  man  attend  to  your  legal 
business?  " 

"  What,  Braddock  ?  Why,  he's  the  only  man 
in  the  village  who  speaks  to  me.  He  came  up  to 
me  as  I  got  off  the  train  and  told  me  that  if  I  had 
any  more  strawberries  than  I  wanted,  there  was  a 
neighbouring  hotel  that  would  take  them  off  my 
hands.  That  doesn't  sound  insane." 

"  And  there's  the  woman  next  door,"  continued 
Lucy.  "She  came  and  screamed  over  the  stone 
fence  at  me  that  I  owed  her  ten  cents  for  milk. 
Good  gracious,  I  wonder  what  Kate  would  say  to 
these  people." 

"  Oh,  that  reminds  me,"  said  John.  "  I've  a 
letter  for  you  from  Kate.  It  came  to  the  house 
just  as  I  was  leaving.  It's  in  my  coat  pocket. 
You  don't  want  to  read  it  now,  do  you  ? " 

"  Yes,  I  do,"  said  Lucy,  jumping  about  to  find 
his  coat.  She  sat  down  on  a  mattress  and  read 
the  letter  aloud.  It  was  dated  at  Lakewood, 
N.  J.,  and  ran  as  follows :  "  My  dear  Lucy  — 
I  have  just  time  to  drop  you  a  line  before  going 
out.  You  seem  to  be  quite  in  another  world  from 
mine  now,  dear,  and  I  haven't  heard  a  word  from 
you  for  weeks.  What  are  you  doing  with  your 
self?  We  only  stop  here  on  our  way  to  Cape 
May,  for  we  found  Narragansett  Pier  awfully  tire 
some  after  the  first  few  days.  I  hear  Cape  May 
is  awfully  expensive,  but  I  hope  it  isn't  tiresome, 
for  Wes  really  needs  a  change.  I  wish  you  would 

103 


MAKING   OF   A   COUNTRY   HOME 

run  down  there  for  a  few  days.  We  could  have 
a  very  nice  time  together.  You  can  tell  John  for 
me  that  I  think  he  is  real  mean  to  keep  you  tied 
down  so." 

When  this  letter  was  read,  Lucy  and  John 
looked  at  each  other  a  moment  silently,  and  there 
was  a  slight  shadow  on  John's  face  as  he  waited. 
Finally  he  said,  "  Well,  my  dear  ?  " 

"  We  can't  go  down  till  we  get  the  house  to 
rights,  can  we,  John  ?  " 

"  And  then  ?  "  asked  John. 

"  Oh,  then  is  a  year  off,"  said  Lucy,  looking 
round  helplessly.  "  I  think  we've  our  own  Cape 
May  to  look  after." 

All  John  said  was,  "  My  dear,  Wesley  has  my 
sympathy  —  he  hasn't  got  you." 

John  now  gave  the  remainder  of  his  vacation  to 
the  garden.  In  his  study  of  it  he  found  that 
Mart  was  a  storehouse  of  practical  knowledge 
without  an  idea  beyond.  The  man  had  been 
employed  as  an  under-gardener  at  some  time,  and 
had  picked  up  a  large  fund  of  applicable  wisdom 
in  small  matters,  but  as  for  originating  or  adapt 
ing,  he  was  as  helpless  as  the  white  horse. 

The  space  ploughed  and  planted  rather  loosely 
for  a  garden  was  a  little  less  than  half  an  acre.  It 
lay  well  down  the  slope,  where  there  were  no 
trees.  It  was  growing  the  usual  garden  truck, 
and  was  badly  overrun  by  weeds.  Mart  sug 
gested  that  the  only  trouble  with  the  soil  was 
that  it  went  dry  in  July  and  August,  when  every 
thing  burnt  up.  "  If  I  was  you,"  he  said  defer- 

104 


THE   INCIPIENT   GARDEN 

entially,  "  I'd  make  a  celery  bed  down  there  at 
the  foot  of  the  hill  where  it's  moist/' 

"  Oh,  I  guess  we've  everything  growing  here 
that  a  family  needs." 

Mart  looked  a  little  incredulous  and  superior. 
"  As  to  that,"  he  said,  "  I  don't  think  it  would 
take  a  premium.  It  hasn't  got  any  tomato 
plants,  egg  plants,  late  cabbages,  or  cauliflower. 
I  tried  to  get  the  old  man  to  furnish  some  plants, 
but  he  wouldn't  spend  the  money,  and  as  for 
that  strawberry  bed,  you'll  have  it  running  you 
out  of  house  and  home  unless  it's  tended  to.  You 
see  a  garden  this  size  ought  to  have  a  man  in  it 
all  the  time.  You  wouldn't  know  it  if  I  could 
put  in  six  or  seven  hours  a  day  on  it." 

John  went  all  over  the  garden  carefully.  (He 
had  to  pass  through  a  strawberry  bed  which  was 
nearly  as  large  as  the  garden  itself.)  It  was  laid 
out  roughly  in  beds  containing  radishes,  lettuce, 
peas,  parsley,  onions,  squash,  spinach,  beets, 
beans,  and  cucumbers — the  usual  supply  of  a 
country  garden.  Beyond  were  strips  of  sweet 
corn  and  potatoes. 

"  It's  a  shame,"  said  Mart,  "  to  see  early 
potatoes  eaten  up  before  they  are  ripe  by  bugs, 
and  onions  that  you  can't  tell  from  a  patch  of 
ragweed,  and  strawberries  havin'  their  own  way 
as  if  there  wasn't  a  man  within  call.  Then 
there's  them  bushes  along  the  wall ;  askin'  your 
pardon,  sir,  it  does  look  pretty  bad  to  see  'em 
in  that  shape.  Why,  I  picked  three  bushels  of 
Clark  raspberries  two  years  ago  off  them  same 

105 


MAKING   OF   A   COUNTRY    HOME 

bushes.  Now  look  at  'em.  You  won't  get  a 
bushel." 

"  A  bushel,"  repeated  John.  "  I  should  think 
that  would  be  ample  for  my  small  family." 

"  Yes,  sir,  but  they  was  that  prime  stock  they 
ought  to  have  been  cut  out  and  tended  to. 
There's  about  a  seventy-five-foot  row  of  'em. 
They  might  as  well  have  gone  the  whole  length 
of  the  wall.  Eight  or  ten  bushel  is  better  than 
one,  I  guess." 

It  seemed  to  John  that  the  deeper  he  got  into 
his  garden,  the  more  stupendous  its  needs  were. 
He  had  regarded  it  as  an  appanage  that  took 
care  of  itself  with  a  little  incidental  supervision. 
He  left  it  with  an  oppressive  sense  that  it  was  a 
voracious  monster  that  demanded  no  end  of 
money  and  toil  and  sleepless  care,  and  was  very 
apt,  if  you  took  your  eye  off  it,  to  relapse  into  a 
tropical  and  disgraceful  jungle.  It  was  very  evi 
dent  that  a  garden,  even  of  that  size,  needed  a 
gardener  and  a  complete  outfit  of  tools,  insecti 
cides,  irrigation  plant,  fertilizing  factory,  and 
relays  of  weed  destroyers.  After  wrestling  with 
the  problem  for  some  time,  he  struck  that  happy 
line  of  conduct  which  so  often  distinguishes  ordi 
nary  men.  He  took  Mart  into  the  shed  adjoin 
ing  the  stable  and  let  him  into  his  confidence. 
The  man  evidently  had  some  pride  in  his  skill  as 
a  gardener,  and  had  never  had  the  full  opportunity 
to  exhibit  it.  John  humoured  him. 

"  Now  see  here,  Mart,"  he  said,  "  I've  thought 
this  whole  matter  of  the  garden  over,  and  I'll  tell 

1 06 


THE   INCIPIENT   GARDEN 

you  what  I'll  do.  It's  plain  you  know  a  good 
deal  about  the  garden.  I'll  just  turn  the  whole 
matter  over  to  you  for  a  month  or  two,  and  we'll 
see  what  you  can  do  with  it.  You  understand 
that  I'd  like  to  beat  these  people  round  here  with 
a  garden,  don't  you  ?  " 

"  It  wouldn't  be  such  a  hard  job,  sir,  if  I  had 
the  things  to  do  it  with." 

"  Very  well,  you  get  in  there  and  give  it  your 
whole  attention,  and  I'll  make  it  good  to  you  if 
you  come  out  all  right.  All  you  will  have  to  do 
is  to  take  care  of  the  horse,  drive  me  to  the  depot, 
get  the  supplies,  and  come  after  me  in  the 
evening." 

"  You'll  have  to  get  me  some  tools,"  said  Mart. 

"  Have  you  got  a  clear  idea  of  what  you  want  ?  " 

As  John  took  out  his  pad,  Mart  proceeded  de 
liberately  to  enumerate  the  necessary  articles, 
and  this  is  the  way  it  looked  on  the  pad,  with  what 
Mart  calculated  were  the  prices  :  — 

One  Hand  Cultivator $6.50 

Two  Hoes 1.25 

One  Trowel .25 

Ten  pounds  of  Paris  Green 2.00 

One  large  Sprinkler .75 

One  Grass  Hook .40 

One  Mole  Trap 1.25 

One  Water  Barrel,  Cart,  and  Hose  .      .      .  n.oo 

Twenty-five  Tomato  Plants .35 

Twelve  Egg  Plants .25 

Fifty  Cabbage  Plants 60 

Twelve  Pepper  Plants .20 

Twelve  Cauliflower  Plants .25 

One  Garden  Syringe .50 


MAKING   OF  A   COUNTRY   HOME 

One  Grindstone $2-5° 

Two  eighteen-inch  White  Pine  Plank     .      .  4.00 

Four  five-inch  Studding .50 

Ten  pounds  Tenpenny  Nails .35 

Ten  pounds  Eightpenny  Nails      ....  .40 

One  bundle  of  Shingles I .  I  o 

Five  pounds  Shingle  Nails       .     v     ...  .20 

John  looked  the  list  over  with  amused  wonder. 
"  Aren't  you  running  a  little  out  of  the  gardening 
business  ?  "  he  asked.  "  Nails  and  lumber  and 
shingles  are  not  usually  included  in  garden 
supplies." 

"Well,  sir,  Til  tell  you  how  it  is.  Most  of 
them  things  I  ought  to  have,  but  I  can  get  along 
without  all  of  'em.  I  thought  that  if  you'd  let 
me  put  up  a  workbench  in  this  shed  —  you  see 
I've  got  a  few  carpenter  tools  of  my  own  —  why, 
when  it  come  to  makin'  a  cold  frame  or  mendin* 
a  rake,  I  could  have  the  things  in  good  order. 
There's  always  rainy  days  when  I  could  put  in 
spare  time  fixin'  the  shingles  on  the  stable  and 
doin'  other  light  jobs." 

"  What  do  you  want  with  a  water  barrel  ?  " 

"  Well,  sir,  the  great  trouble  with  a  garden  on 
a  slope  like  this  is,  it's  apt  to  go  dry  and  burn 
up,  and  it's  easier  to  wheel  the  kitchen  slops 
down  hill  than  to  pull  water  up  from  the  river, 
and  there's  nothin'  better  for  a  garden  than 
kitchen  slops.  I've  tried  it." 

"Then  you've  got  two  hoes.  Wouldn't  one 
do  you? " 

"  I  was  thinkin'  that  my  wife  would  lend  me  a 
1 08 


THE    INCIPIENT   GARDEN 

hand  at  the  weedin'  when  she  got  through  her 
housework,  and  I'd  like  to  have  a  spare  tool  for 
her." 

"  It  seems  to  me,"  said  John,  "  that  your  great 
difficulty  is  want  of  water.  How  would  it  do  to 
run  a  drain-pipe  from  the  kitchen  to  a  cesspool 
on  that  first  terrace  above  your  beds  ?  You  could 
store  it  up  there,  and  we  could  put  a  bit  of  a  hose 
on  it." 

Mart's  eyes  brightened.  "That  would  be  a 
good  idea,  sir,  but  I  didn't  know  you  wanted  to 
go  to  that  expense." 

"  I  don't  think  it  will  cost  much  more  than 
your  water  cart ;  besides,  I  want  to  get  the  slops 
away  from  the  house." 

But  John  very  soon  found  out  that  Mart's  list 
did  not  include  all  the  wants.  They  had  to  have 
a  pickaxe  and  spade  to  dig  the  trench.  Then  he 
had  to  put  in  a  pump  for  the  cistern  ;  then  it  was 
tile  pipe  and  cement ;  then  he  had  to  get  a 
plumber  to  do  the  fitting.  Then  he  had  to  buy 
a  hose  and  fittings  for  the  cesspool  tank.  But  it 
was  all  done  in  a  week,  and  the  sense  of  satisfac 
tion  in  having  accomplished  it  all  according  to 
plan  was  ample  reward.  Nothing  that  he  after 
wards  achieved  on  the  place  gave  him  so  much 
satisfaction  as  this  little  initial  feat  of  his  own 
engineering,  and  it  won  from  Mart  a  succession 
of  tributes  when  the  summer  drought  came  on,  as 
we  shall  see. 

Before  John's  vacation  was  ended  he  saw 
Mart's  workbench  completed,  and  in  the  rack 

109 


MAKING   OF   A   COUNTRY   HOME 

above  it  were  the  few  old-fashioned  tools  that  the 
man  owned.  In  front  of  it  stood  the  grindstone 
with  a  treadle  affixed,  of  which  Mart  was  espe 
cially  proud,  seeing  that  his  tools,  which  were  in 
very  bad  condition,  and  hitherto  could  only  be 
sharpened  by  begging  the  favour  of  some  one  who 
owned  a  stone,  and  then  begging  some  one  else  to 
turn  the  crank  (for  it  is  notorious  that  nobody 
ever  saw  a  grindstone  in  a  farmer's  barn  that 
wasn't  turned  by  a  crank)  —  two  conditions  that 
had  left  his  axe,  his  drawknife,  and  his  two  chisels 
in  great  lack  of  what  the  critics  call  incisiveness. 

It  was  impossible  to  watch  Mart's  tender 
admiration  for  that  grindstone  without  being 
touched,  and  this  led  to  John's  buying  many 
tools,  with  a  vague  sense  that  he  was  adding  to 
Mart's  happiness  in  the  enlargement  of  his 
sharpening  facilities. 

But  if  John  had  known  it,  the  workbench  with 
its  tools  affected  him  in  a  similar  way.  He  found 
himself  several  times  during  the  day  in  the  shed 
puttering  at  something.  To  most  men  of  an 
executive  turn,  the  possession  of  a  workbench  and 
tools  more  than  renews  the  zest  of  youth.  If 
there  is  any  constructive  skill  at  all  in  a  man,  the 
bench  invites  it  into  action,  and  if  he  is  at  all 
handy,  it  is  the  most  remunerative  piece  of  furni 
ture  he  can  have.  The  workshop  speedily  be 
came  a  source  of  comfort  and  relief.  There  was 
some  kind  of  wholesome  delight  in  handling 
obedient  material.  It  was  astonishing  how  much 
better  the  kitchen  shelves  looked  when  he  put 

no 


THE    INCIPIENT   GARDEN 

them  up  himself,  and  with  what  pride  he  said  to 
his  wife,  when  she  showed  him  a  fractured  piece 
of  furniture,  "  Oh,  send  it  down  to  the  workshop; 
we'll  soon  put  that  to  rights.''  John's  nimble 
imagination  jumped  from  that  workshop,  with  its 
pleasant  smell  of  shavings  and  row  of  steel  imple 
ments,  to  the  ultimate  possibility  of  rebuilding  his 
house  from  end  to  end. 

It  was  not  so  with  the  garden.  That  luxurious 
patch  was  the  most  exacting  and  baffling  element 
of  his  new  life  for  two  months.  The  deeper  he 
became  entangled  in  its  meshes,  the  more  impera 
tive  were  its  wants  and  the  more  insuperable  its 
difficulties.  He  saw  the  tomato  and  cabbage 
plants  set  out,  and  believed  the  work  was  done. 
But  he  soon  found  out  that  it  required  the  inces 
sant  care  of  Mart  and  himself  to  preserve  them 
from  the  cut-worms,  the  moles,  and  the  weeds. 

There  was  one  onion  bed  thirty-five  feet  long 
that  expanded  his  knowledge  of  practical  garden 
ing  more  than  anything  else.  It  required  the 
attention  of  three  able-bodied  persons  to  keep  it 
visible  to  the  eye.  Mart  and  Tilka  and  John 
worked  at  it  with  heroic  persistence  to  get  the 
weeds  out,  and  it  baffled  them.  By  no  system  of 
calculation  could  he  figure  out  that  the  crop  at 
its  best  would  pay  for  the  labour  expended  on  it. 
He  got  up  at  four  o'clock  and  found  Mart  and 
Tilka  down  on  their  knees  already  pulling  out  a 
fresh  crop  of  weeds.  As  near  as  he  could  esti 
mate  with  his  pad  each  onion  would  cost  in  foot 
pounds  of  labour  about  twenty-five  cents,  and  he 

in 


MAKING   OF   A   COUNTRY   HOME 

could  buy  onions  at  the  store  for  twenty  cents  a 
peck.  His  peppers,  which  had  taken  root  finely 
and  looked  prosperous,  he  found  one  morning 
had  been  overturned  by  a  mole,  and  most  of  them 
were  lying  flat  and  wilted  in  the  sun.  In  order 
to  have  any  potatoes,  he  and  Mart  had  to  work 
assiduously  with  Paris  green,  until  they  were  cov 
ered  with  the  dust,  and  the  garden  looked  like  a 
pattern  of  cheap  wall  paper.  On  another  occasion 
the  horse  got  loose  and  tramped  down  his  lettuce 
and  peas  with  a  placid  anarchism,  and  John  began 
to  have  grave  doubts  of  the  utility  of  gardens  any 
way.  There  were  other  forms  of  energy,  the 
relation  of  which  to  results  was  more  easily 
computable. 

But  Mart  did  not  appear  to  understand  the 
cause  of  the  discouragement,  and  listened  to 
John's  cynical  remarks  about  the  garden  with  a 
quiet  belief  that  they  were  an  amateur's  allowable 
ignorance. 

Every  amateur  gardener  has  to  go  through  this 
phase  of  doubt,  just  as  does  the  theological  stu 
dent.  There  is  a  time  when  final  causes  and 
onions  appear  to  be  a  delusion  and  a  snare,  and 
raising  truck  takes  its  place  alongside  the  attempt 
to  square  the  circle.  But  if  the  student  in  the 
higher  criticism  or  the  lower  vegetables  remains  a 
student  long  enough,  some  liberating  light  falls 
across  his  disbelief  and  his  other  truck  beds, 
especially  when  he  has  some  orthodox  old  hand 
near  by  who  has  been  through  it  all. 

"  I  have  come  to  the  conclusion,"  said  John  to 

112 


THE    INCIPIENT   GARDEN 

Mart,  who  was  still  pulling  weeds  out  of  the 
onions,  "  that  a  garden  is  a  very  nice  plaything 
for  a  capitalist,  but  I  shall  turn  my  attention  to 
grass  and  flowers." 

Mart  stood  up  and  wiped  the  sweat  from  his 
face  with  his  shirt-sleeve.  "  Do  you  mean 
lawns  ?  "  he  asked. 

"Yes.  A  fine  stretch  of  lawn,  well-kept  and 
green,  is  a  special  hobby  of  mine." 

"  Then  all  I've  got  to  say,  sir,"  replied  Mart, 
cc  is  that  you've  come  to  the  wrong  place.  I 
never  saw  a  real  lawn  in  Rockland  County.  We 
have  grass  plots  up  here  —  but  lawns  ?  —  well, 
sir,  it'll  cost  you  about  four  times  as  much  as  a 
garden." 

This  was  not  encouraging,  but  John  was  in 
credulous.  "  You  don't  have  to  weed  a  lawn  like 
onions,"  he  said.  "  It  takes  care  of  itself." 

Mart  laughed.  "  I'd  rather  take  care  of  an 
acre  of  onions  than  half  an  acre  of  lawns,"  he 
said.  "  In  the  first  place,  this  soil  is  too  dry  for 
lawns.  You'll  have  to  have  water  works  first, 
and  then  it's  got  to  be  cut  every  other  day  and 
kept  wet.  So  between  the  cutter  and  the  hose,  a 
man  wouldn't  have  time  for  much  else,  and  when 
you  come  to  keep  it  well  rolled  and  dig  the  moles 
out,  it's  about  all  a  man  wants  to  do." 

Now  a  lawn  had  always  been  one  of  John's 
dreams,  and  to  have  it  dispelled  in  this  manner 
was  not  at  all  consonant  with  his  make-up. 

"  I'll  show  you,"  he  said,  "  that  you  are  wrong. 
Any  crop  that  takes  all  a  man's  time  to  keep  the 

"3 


MAKING   OF   A   COUNTRY   HOME 

weeds  out  makes  life  a  burden  and  onions  an 
impertinence." 

"  Lord  bless  you,  sir,"  replied  Mart,  "  the 
onions  are  all  right.  They  were  planted  wrong 
—  that's  all.  Next  year,  if  I'm  alive,  I'll  lay 
your  garden  out  on  a  field  plan,  in  proper  rows 
so  as  I  can  run  a  horse  cultivator  through  it,  and 
there  won't  be  any  trouble  about  weeds ;  but  I 
couldn't  undertake  to  keep  an  acre  of  lawn  wet 
on  top  of  a  hill  in  July,  unless  you  gave  me  an 
English  climate,  or  put  a  ram  down  in  that  stream, 
built  a  water  tank  in  front  of  the  house,  and  laid 
a  thousand  feet  of  pipe  in.  Even  then,  I  guess 
this  soil  would  suck  up  more  water  than  you 
could  supply.  I  estimate  that  ten  square  feet  of 
grass  will  drink  more  water  than  forty  camels." 

With  a  vague  suspicion  that  Mart  was  simply 
prejudiced  against  lawns,  John  went  to  work  to 
read  up  on  the  subject,  and  to  examine  the  neigh 
bouring  grass  plots,  and  the  deeper  he  got  into  the 
subject,  the  more  respect  he  had  for  Mart's  sa 
gacity.  He  took  several  long  walks  in  search  of 
lawns,  and  failed  to  discover  the  ideal  thing.  He 
plunged  into  the  lawn  maker's  manual,  and  came 
plump  upon  the  fundamental  requirement  of  water 
and  a  retentive  soil.  Then  he  plunged  from  the 
water  into  the  soil,  so  to  speak,  not  having  a  fry 
ing  pan  and  fire  handy,  and  got  himself  bewildered 
with  sandy  loams  and  cold  substrata.  He  read 
hydraulics  when  his  wife  was  asleep,  and  pumped 
his  brain  full  of  water  rams,  Ryder  pumps,  wind 
mills,  and  pressure  to  the  square  inch.  To  relin- 

114 


THE    INCIPIENT   GARDEN 

quish  his  lawn  was  like  giving  up  a  creed.  But 
when  he  studied  his  resources,  it  looked  very 
much  as  if  it  must  go  the  way  of  the  garden.  It 
was  not  till  several  weeks  had  passed  that  light 
broke  in  on  these  problems  and  Hope  reset  her 
bow  of  promise  above  his  truck  beds. 

His  vacation  drew  to  a  close,  and  late  one  Sat 
urday  afternoon  he  came  into  the  house  wearing 
a  moody  countenance,  as  if  he  had  not  quite  dis 
entangled  himself  from  the  lawn  problem.  He  was 
in  his  shirt-sleeves,  and  he  threw  his  straw  hat  into 
a  corner  of  the  sitting  room,  and  sat  down  with  a 
sigh  of  relief  in  an  easy  chair,  stretching  his  legs 
out  in  front  of  him.  His  wife  was  sitting  at  her 
cottage  piano,  idly  running  her  fingers  over  the 
keys.  A  rosy  light  from  the  window  fell  across 
her  white  dress,  giving  it  a  creamy  hue  and  touch 
ing  her  cheek  with  a  mellow  ripeness.  The  room 
looked  surprisingly  cosey  and  comfortable.  Her 
little  secretary  stood  in  a  corner  with  her  letters 
and  bills  tumbled  about  on  it,  and  near  by  was  a 
bouquet  of  wild  azaleas  and  sweet  alyssum.  A 
few  light  shadows  danced  across  his  picture  on 
the  wall,  and  a  suffused  pearly  light  seemed  to 
be  part  of  the  pianissimo  that  dripped  from  her 
ringers.  He  could  hear  the  occasional  shouts 
outside  as  his  boy  romped  under  the  trees  with 
Tilka.  In  the  lapses  of  the  music  he  took  it  all 
in,  and  then  said,  as  if  to  himself,  "  Well,  after 
all,  it  is  for  this  that  we  toil  and  spin." 

His  wife  swung  herself  round  on  the  piano- 
stool  leisurely.  He  noticed  that  she  had  dressed 

"5 


MAKING   OF   A   COUNTRY   HOME 

her  hair  with  unusual  care  and  wore  a  tea  rose  on 
her  breast.  "  Dear  me,"  he  said,  "  you  must  be 
expecting  company/* 

"  No/*  she  said ;  "  I  was  —  but  the  company 
has  come." 

He  thought  that  was  very  pretty.  It  sounded 
as  if  she  had  continued  the  pianissimo  of  the 
instrument  with  her  mouth. 

"  Thank  you,  my  dear,  it's  awfully  good  and 
refreshing  of  you.  You've  lost  all  desire  to  go  to 
Cape  May,  haven't  you  ?  " 

"  I  should  cut  a  pretty  figure  at  Cape  May," 
she  replied,  "  among  those  women  who  have 
handsome  husbands  who  never  take  their  dress 
coats  off  except  to  play  golf.  What  should  I  do 
with  a  husband  in  a  blue  shirt  and  his  finger  tied 
up  in  a  rag  ?  " 

"  I  cut  myself  with  a  jack-plane,"  said  John, 
apologetically.  "  I  never  heard  you  acknowledge 
before  that  your  husband  was  not  as  handsome  as 
Wesley." 

"It  never  occurred  to  you,  did  it,  that  I  mar 
ried  you  because  you  were  handsome  ? " 

"  It  never  occurred  to  me  how  you  came  to  do 
it  at  all.  I've  been  dying  to  know  all  these  years." 

"  I  did  it  because  you  were  not  handsome,  you 
great  goose.  Where  would  I  have  been  if  you 
were  as  good-looking  as  Wes  ?  You  must  see 
that  I  would  have  been  dragged  down  to  the  level 
of  Cape  May  sooner  or  later." 

"Yes,  and  I  wonder  where  I  would  have 
landed." 

116 


THE   INCIPIENT   GARDEN 

"  Cape  May,  too.  A  man  always  drags  a 
woman  down  to  his  own  level." 

To  have  one's  wife  play  the  coquette  suddenly 
and  daintily  in  a  white  dress  with  a  tea  rose  on 
her  bosom,  is  one  of  those  little  luxuries  that 
ordinary  men  appreciate. 

"  Let  us  go  out  under  the  trees,"  he  said. 
"  To-morrow  will  be  Sunday,  and  the  last  day  of 
my  vacation/' 

He  put  his  arm  about  her  gallantly,  and  they 
went  out  together.  Tilka,  who  watched  them  at 
some  distance,  said  to  herself,  "  They  think  so 
much  of  each  other,  as  if  they  were  not  married 
so  long  as  three  years,"  and  then  she  slipped  into 
the  kitchen. 

When  they  sat  down  under  the  trees,  John 
said  he  was  a  little  worried  about  that  garden. 

"Yes,"  said  Lucy,  promptly,  "it  has  been 
worrying  me,  too  —  almost  to  death." 

"  Then  you  can  sympathize  with  me,"  said 
John.  "  I  was  going  to  propose  to  you  that  we 
abolish  it  altogether  —  it's  too  great  a  strain." 

"  Abolish  the  garden  ?  "  cried  Lucy,  with  aston 
ishment. 

"  Yes.  It's  not  a  mathematical  proposition, 
and  I  can't  work  it  out." 

"  But  it's  an  awful  convenience." 

"Then  I  don't  see  why  it  should  worry  you," 
said  John. 

"  It  worries  me  because  I  do  not  know  what 
to  do  with  the  stuff.  I  wish  you  would  go  into 
that  kitchen  —  it  looks  like  a  greengrocer's.  I'm 

117 


MAKING   OF   A   COUNTRY   HOME 

getting  to  feel  that  it  would  be  a  luxury  to  go 
out  and  buy  something.  I  wish  mother  had 
some  of  those  heads  of  lettuce  that  are  going  to 
waste.  She  is  so  fond  of  lettuce,  and  so  particu 
lar  about  it.  You  know,  John,  you  always  said 
she  made  the  best  salads  you  ever  ate.  What 
do  you  suppose  Tilka  said  to  me  this  morning 
—  and  the  poor  girl  does  her  very  best  to  eat  all 
the  stuff  that's  brought  in  —  she  said,  c  I  think 
when  you  have  a  garden,  you  should  a  pig  get. 
If  you  do  not  much  care  for  the  smell,  I  could 
keep  him  in  the  cellar.  It  is  that  wicked  to  throw 
away  such  good  greens/ ' 

Then  John  and  Lucy  fell  to  laughing.  "  I 
suppose,"  said  he,  c<  that  she  would  feed  the  pig 
on  strawberries  if  she  had  him  in  the  cellar.  I 
wonder  what  kind  of  a  flavour  pork  would  have 
if  it  were  fed  on  strawberries.  It  sounds  rather 
dainty." 

"  But,  John,  the  strawberries  must  be  fed  to 
something — they  are  spoiling  on  our  hands.  Mart 
has  been  taking  away  ten  quarts  every  morning, 
thanks  to  your  cat-lawyer,  and  says  he  could 
take  more  if  he  had  some  one  to  help  him  pick." 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  remarked  John ;  "  but  they'll 
all  give  out  in  another  week,  and  that  will  be  the 
end  of  the  garden.  I'll  turn  it  into  a  lawn  next 
year." 

"  If  you  do  I'll  go  to  Cape  May.  You  had 
better  let  me  undertake  the  mathematics  of  the 
garden.  It's  quite  beyond  a  man's  comprehen 
sion  of  details." 

118 


THE   INCIPIENT   GARDEN 

"  Oh,  I  have  been  studying  the  books  on  gar 
dening,  my  dear.  It's  all  a  question  of  water." 

"  And  I've  been  studying  the  garden  itself. 
Just  as  soon  as  the  strawberries  give  out,  there 
will  be  cherries,  currants,  and  raspberries,  and 
when  they  give  out,  there  will  be  blackberries, 
and  Mart  says  that  the  Sanitarium  will  take  all 
that  we  can  spare.  If  you're  going  to  give  the 
rest  of  your  life  to  lawns,  I  will  look  after  the 
garden,  and  I  will  promise  you  that  it  will  not  be 
abolished.  Gracious,  what  would  country  life  be 
without  a  garden  ?  It's  the  old  story  of  home 
without  a  mother — and  speaking  of  mother, 
John " 

"  Yes,  but  Mart  says  the  whole  thing  will  burn 
up  in  July.  I've  studied  this  thing,  my  dear, 
and  it  all  resolves  itself  into  a  question  of  water." 

"That  depends  on  whether  Mart  does  the 
talking.  He's  about  the  dryest  gardener  I  ever 
met.  Let  me  tell  you  something.  The  man 
who  owns  the  Sanitarium  is  running  up  a  little 
bill  for  our  berries,  and  I  suppose  he  would 
rather  make  a  trade  than  pay  cash,  like  all  these 
people,  for  he  spoke  to  Mart  the  other  morning, 
and  wanted  to  know  if  we  needed  a  phaeton.  He 
said  he  had  one  in  his  barn,  a  little  old-fashioned, 
but  perfectly  sound,  that  he  bought  for  his  wife, 
and  she  died.  It's  too  heavy  for  his  pony.  He 
told  Mart  that  we  could  have  it  at  our  own  price, 
and  said  he  would  send  it  up  and  let  us  try  it. 
You  know,  John,  you'll  be  away  a  great  deal, 
and  I  don't  want  to  be  shut  up  in  the  house  all 

119 


MAKING   OF  A   COUNTRY   HOME 

the  time.  Besides  —  if  mother  should  come 
up " 

"  Then  we'll  want  a  new  harness,  my  dear." 

Lucy  looked  at  John  tenderly  a  moment  and 
then  said  :  "  John,  how  much  does  a  new  harness 
cost  ?  I  might  earn  the  money  helping  Mart 
pick  the  berries." 

"  You  will  not  have  to,"  said  John,  quite  mag 
isterially.  "  What's  that  ?  " 

"  That  ?  Why,  that's  the  supper  bell.  Doesn't 
it  sound  nice?  " 

"  Supper  bell  ?     Why,  where  did  you  get  that  ?  " 

"  Mother  gave  it  to  me  long  ago,  but  I  never 
had  a  chance  to  use  it  till  now." 

"  I  think  you  were  going  to  say  something  about 
mother,  were  you  not?"  remarked  John,  casually. 

Lucy  looked  very  demure  as  she  got  up.  But 
she  merely  said,  "  I  don't  think  I  need  to  men 
tion  it,  John,  do  you  ?  " 

And  John,  trying  to  look  demure  himself,  said, 
"  No,  I  don't  think  it's  necessary.  It's  all  right." 

Then  they  went  in  to  supper. 


120 


CHAPTER   VI 


THE    DAY    OF    SMALL    THINGS 

JOHN  had  been  guided  in  his  selection  of 
a  site  by  an  architectural  book  that  had 
commended  the  brow  of  a  hill  with  great 
enthusiasm,  because  it  was  dry  and  healthy 
and  always  had  a  current  of  fresh  air.  Now  that 
he  found  himself  on  the  brow  of  a  hill,  the  dry- 
ness  of  the  site  began  to  worry  him.  There  was 
plenty  of  water  at  the  foot  of  the  hill,  but  it 
would  not  run  up,  and  that  which  fell  at  the  top 
had  a  lively  haste  to  run  down.  He  had  already 
learned  that  one  cannot  have  lawns  without  water, 
and  that  the  gardens  in  the  neighbourhood,  espe 
cially  on  a  slope,  were  apt  to  burn  up.  It  was 
becoming  very  plain  to  him  that  his  landscape  gar 
dening  was  a  much  bigger  problem  than  he  had 
dreamed  of,  and  his  vernal  prospects  of  an  embow 
ered  and  verdant  villa  were  beginning  to  assume 
some  of  the  sere  and  yellow  aspects  of  the  country 
about  him. 

121 


MAKING   OF   A   COUNTRY   HOME 

One  Sunday  morning  Mr.  Swarthout  came  in 
upon  him  contemplating  his  scraggly  grass-plot 
rather  ruefully. 

"You  don't  keep  it  cut  close  enough,"  said 
Mr.  Swarthout. 

"  Don't  I  ?  "  responded  John.  "  Look  over 
there  along  the  fence.  I've  blistered  my  hands 
shaving  it  down  to  the  roots,  but  it  is  just  as  yel 
low  and  scrawny  as  ever.  What  the  place  wants, 
Mr.  Swarthout,  is  water." 

"  Gits  as  much  water  as  any  o'  the  places, 
don't  it?" 

"  Yes,  that's  the  trouble  —  it  wants  more  than 
the  other  places  to  suit  me." 

"  Seems  to  me  it  looks  all  right  for  the  season. 
Hes  all  the  water  natur'  allows  it,  don't  it  ?  " 

Just  then  Mr.  Braddock  drove  up  and  entered 
the  grounds,  carrying  a  large  cat  in  his  arms  and 
smiling  benignantly  as  he  stroked  it. 

"  We  call  her  Medusa,"  said  Mr.  Braddock, 
lifting  the  long  hair  of  the  cat's  head  between  his 
thumb  and  finger.  "  You  know  the  myth. 
There  is  a  singular  relation  between  the  length  of 
a  cat's  hair  and  its  animal  food.  You  will  have 
to  feed  her  on  meat  occasionally." 

Mr.  Swarthout  walked  a  step  or  two  away  with 
indifferent  contempt.  Then  he  turned  and  said, 
"  You  don't  see  anything  the  matter  with  this  'ere 
grass,  do  you,  Mr.  Braddock  ?  " 

Mr.  Braddock  stroked  the  cat  and  smiled  as  he 
replied :  — 

"  Going  to  make  lawns,  eh  ?     I  see.     We  all 

122 


THE   DAY   OF   SMALL  THINGS 

go  through  it.  That's  why  I  brought  you  a  cat. 
It's  always  well  to  begin  lawns  with  a  cat.  Moles, 
you  know  —  they  plough  them  up  faster  than 
you  can  roll  them  down.  Nothing  like  a  cat  for 
moles.  Just  feel  that  hair.  Mole  diet.'' 

"  Mr.  Dennison  has  got  a  notion  that  God  Al 
mighty  don't  know  how  much  water's  wanted  on 
this  land,"  said  Mr.  Swarthout,  "  and  he's  thinkin' 
about  regulatin'  it." 

"  Ah,"  remarked  Mr.  Braddock,  suppressing 
with  the  back  of  his  hand  an  inclination  to  guffaw, 
"  what  you're  thinking  about  is  an  artesian  well. 
We  have  to  go  through  that,  too,  when  we  im 
prove.  Mine  cost  me  —  let  me  see  —  2.50  a 
foot.  You've  heard  of  speculators  in  the  city 
watering  their  stock  "  —  and  he  chuckled  as  he  said 
it  —  "  well,  sir,  when  we  speculate  in  the  country 
we  begin  by  watering  the  soil.  There  isn't  much 
difference." 

"  How  many  feet  is  your  artesian  well  ? " 
asked  John. 

Mr.  Braddock  thought  a  moment,  stroked  his 
cat,  and  replied  :  — 

"  One  hundred  or  thereabout,  and  the  wind 
mill  —  let  me  see  —  that  cost  me  seventy-five 
dollars,  I  think." 

"  Three  hundred  and  twenty-five  dollars  for  a 
well,"  said  John,  contemplatively.  "  But  you 
have  plenty  of  water,  at  all  events  ?  " 

"Water?"  said  Mr.  Braddock.  "Certainly 
not.  Water  doesn't  follow  by  any  means  —  never 
does,  I  assure  you,  unless  you  go  a  thousand  feet. 

123 


MAKING   OF   A   COUNTRY   HOME 

But  the  windmill  is  quite  an  ornament  when  there 
is  a  gale.  After  artesians  we  always  try  water- 
rams.  They  are  less  expensive.  Think  of  trying 
artesians  ?  " 

"  It's  dead  agin'  Providence/'  said  Mr.  Swart- 
hout.  "  I've  been  here  sixty  year,  and  I  never 
had  nothin'  but  a  good  curb  well  with  a  windlass, 
and  there's  never  been  any  trouble  on  my  place 
about  water,  'cepting  there's  a  long  drought,  and 
then  I  guess  we  ain't  no  worse  off  than  other 
people." 

Mr.  Braddock  pressed  his  hand  over  his  mouth 
a  moment.  "  I'll  just  take  Medusa  in  to  Mrs. 
Dennison,"  he  said,  "and  tell  her  about  the 
moles."  Then  he  remembered  something. 
"  There's  an  auction  up  at  Sneider's  next  week. 
You  might  pick  up  a  second-hand  ram  there,  if 
you  don't  go  in  for  artesians."  And  he  went  off 
to  the  house  with  what  to  John  was  very  much 
like  a  suppressed  chuckle. 

This  conversation  left  John  Dennison  sorely 
perplexed  about  the  water  problem.  Mart  in 
sisted  that  it  was  a  waste  of  time  to  think  about 
having  an  English  lawn.  It  would  ruin  any  man 
who  was  not  a  millionnaire,  for  the  soil  wasn't 
"  kalkilated  "  for  it. 

Finally  John  put  ten  pounds  of  earth  from  his 
hill-top  into  a  box  and  sent  it  by  express  to  an 
agricultural  chemist  whom  he  had  known  in  school 
days,  and  with  it  a  request  that  he  would  tell  him 
what  the  soil  needed  to  make  it  retain  its  mois 
ture  so  that  grass  would  grow  luxuriously  upon 

124 


THE    DAY   OF   SMALL   THINGS 

it.     The  letter  he  received  in  reply  was  as  fol 
lows  :  — 

"  MY  DEAR  OLD  FRIEND  :  I  was  delighted  to 
hear  from  you  once  more,  and  surprised  to  learn 
that  you  have  gone  to  Rockland  County  to  live. 
I  turned  your  box  of  soil  into  my  back  garden 
without  examining  it,  for  that  was  not  necessary 
when  I  knew  where  you  were  and  read  your 
description  of  the  site.  I  have  lived  in  that 
vicinity  myself.  The  trouble  with  lawns  up 
there  is  this :  on  most  of  the  uplands  and  slopes 
there  is  a  thin  alluvium,  or  detritus,  on  a  crust  of 
friable  and  porous  red  sandstone  that  takes  water 
like  a  sponge.  The  soil  is  comminuted  red-rock 
with  vegetable  mould,  and  there  is  little  or  no  hy 
drous  aluminum  silicate  (common  clay)  in  it.  If 
you  will  take  a  small  piece  of  ground  and  treat  it 
with  blue  clay  (you  can  get  plenty  of  it  at  the 
Haverstraw  brickyards),  you  will  find  that  it  will 
stop  the  pores  of  the  rock  and  your  subsoil  will 
retain  the  moisture,  so  that  instead  of  erecting  a 
tank  you  can  convert  the  soil  itself  into  a  tank. 
Let  me  know  the  result  of  the  experiment.  Etc., 
etc." 

Lucy  met  John  at  the  depot  a  day  or  two  later, 
in  her  phaeton.  He  saw  her  from  the  car  window 
before  the  train  stopped.  She  had  driven  fear 
lessly  in  among  the  fine  equipages,  and  both  she 
and  the  white  horse  looked  as  independent  as  any 
of  them.  He  thought  she  might  have  kept  a 
little  in  the  rear  with  her  humble  turnout,  but  she 

125 


MAKING   OF   A   COUNTRY    HOME 

was  the  first  one  in  the  line,  and  the  old  white 
horse  really  seemed  to  be  trying  to  hold  his  head 
high  and  paw  the  earth  with  a  sudden  sense  of 
eclat. 

As  John  climbed  into  the  phaeton,  Lucy  said, 
"  You  look  as  serious  as  if  you  were  going  to  a 
funeral ;  what  is  on  your  mind  now  ?  " 

"  Hydrous  aluminum  silicate,"  said  John,  with 
grave  deliberation.  "  It's  a  terrible  responsibility. 
Let  me  get  this  bundle  under  the  seat  —  it's  lawn 
seed." 

"  There  was  a  box  came  for  you  to-day  from 
Haverstraw.  I  asked  Mart  what  it  was,  and  he 
said,  'Jedging  from  the  heft  of  it,  it  must  be 
gold.'  " 

"  Ha,  ha  !  "  said  John,  "  it's  hydrous  aluminum 
silicate." 

"  Mercy,"  ejaculated  Lucy.    "  Is  it  explosive  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  John,  "it's  blue  clay.  I  am  going 
to  make  a  little  experiment.  It  wouldn't  interest 
you." 

"  Oh,  it's  a  secret !  " 

"  Yes,  one  of  those  secrets  that  tremble  on  a 
man's  lips,  unuttered,  till  he  gets  the  hang  of  it 
himself.  I  see  Sneider's  auction  is  posted  in  the 
depot.  I  want  you  to  drive  up  there,  my  dear, 
and  see  if  you  can  pick  me  up  a  stone-boat." 

"A  stoned/.?" 

"  No,  not  a  stone  boat,  but  a  j/0»^-boat." 

"  I  never  heard  of  such  a  thing.  Are  you 
going  to  put  your  hydrous  what-do-you-call-it 
ink?" 

126 


THE    DAY   OF   SMALL   THINGS 

"  Well,  there's  a  close  connection  —  it's  part  of 
the  secret." 

"  What  do  you  suppose  the  Sneiders  are  sell 
ing  out  for  ?  Are  they  bankrupt  ?  Heavens, 
perhaps  they've  been  trying  to  make  lawns." 

Then  John  laughed.  "  It  seems  to  be  the 
custom  up  here,"  he  said,  "whenever  the  old 
folks  die,  for  the  young  ones  to  sell  out.  As  the 
Sneiders  are  old  Revolutionary  stock,  and  their 
home  is  a  hundred  and  fifty  years  old,  there  must 
be  a  lot  of  venerable  truck  there.  You  had  better 
take  some  money  with  you." 

For  days  after  this  Lucy  watched  John  out  of 
the  corner  of  her  eye  without  disturbing  him  with 
any  questions.  She  saw  him  digging  holes  in  all 
directions  on  the  grounds,  piling  up  red  dirt  and 
pulling  out  chunks  of  red  stone.  She  noticed 
that  he  had  laid  out  a  little  space  ten  feet  square, 
that  looked  like  a  new  cemetery  lot,  and  watched 
it  morning  and  evening  with  mysterious  care. 
He  had  dug  out  the  soil,  refilled  the  space  with 
clay  and  loam  and  stable  manure,  seeded  it  down 
carefully,  and  not  having  a  roller,  had  smoothed 
it  with  a  board  upon  which  she  saw  him,  from 
her  window,  dancing  what  she  supposed  to  be  an 
idiotic  jig  that  called  for  some  reproof. 

"  John,"  she  said,  "  why  don't  you  exercise  in 
the  barn  and  get  a  sand-bag  ?  It  would  be  much 
more  becoming  than  trying  to  dance  in  the  front 
yard  where  everybody  can  see  you,  for  you  never 
were  a  good  dancer." 

John  laughed  heartily.  "  Dance  ! "  he  said ; 
127 


MAKING   OF   A   COUNTRY    HOME 

"  I  am  going  to  make  that  whole  front  space 
dance  with  GocTs  own  green  gladness.  You  wait. 
I'll  make  our  place  look,  among  these  country 
deserts,  like  an  emerald  set  among  a  lot  of  yel 
low  rhinestones.  Don't  you  forget  the  stone- 
boat." 

A  day  or  two  later,  Lucy  took  Mart  with  her 
and  drove  up  the  road  to  the  Sneider  auction.  It 
was  her  first  experience  with  a  country  vendue, 
and  was  full  of  homely  interest.  All  the  near 
neighbours  had  gathered  with  their  vehicles,  and 
most  of  them  were  wandering  about  the  grounds 
and  house  with  a  dull  curiosity.  No  sooner  had 
Mart  tied  the  horse  and  Lucy  had  entered  the 
grounds,  than  she  was  accosted  by  a  young  woman 
whose  youth  and  dress  were  in  startling  contrast 

J  O 

to  the  homely  and  careless  rusticity  of  the  people 
about  her. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Mrs.  Dennison,"  she 
said,  "  but  I  am  so  glad  you  came.  I  am  May 
Braddock.  Pa  has  told  me  all  about  you.  Pa 
is  peculiar,  you  know.  How  is  Medusa  ?  I 
ought  to  have  called  on  you  before.  Pa  doesn't 
give  cats  to  everybody.  I  suppose  you've  noticed 
that  he  is  peculiar  ?  " 

Lucy  nodded  as  if  she  conceded  that  fact  with 
out  the  use  of  words. 

"  Yes,  Pa  told  me  that  your  husband  was  going 
to  make  lawns  —  isn't  it  sad  ?  " 

"I  don't  see  anything  sad  about  it,"  said  Lucy. 
"  It's  part  of  the  improvements." 

"  And  so  it  is  true  that  you  are  really  going  to 
128 


THE   DAY   OF   SMALL   THINGS 

improve.  I  was  in  hopes  that  it  was  idle  gossip. 
I  wish  you  would  let  me  come  and  talk  you  out 
of  it.  You  see  there  are  so  few  city  folk  come  up 
here  that  stay  —  they  always  begin  to  improve  and 
then  go  away." 

Lucy  laughed.  "  If  my  husband  goes  too  far, 
perhaps  I'll  avail  myself  of  your  eloquence.  As 
he  has  only  reached  the  lawn  stage,  perhaps  I  can 
manage  him  alone." 

"  And  do  you  care  for  old  things  ?  " 

"  Do  you  mean  in  husbands  ? " 

"  No,"  said  Miss  Braddock,  with  unperturbed 
seriousness  ;  "  I  mean  in  auctions." 

"  I  have  never  been  to  an  auction  before  in 
my  life,"  replied  Lucy.  "  Is  it  confined  to  old 
things?" 

"  Entirely,"  said  Miss  Braddock,  lowering  her 
voice.  "Just  look  about  you.  I  am  the  only 
young  thing  you  will  ever  see  at  the  auctions  up 
here.  That  is  why  I  am  so  glad  you  came." 

"  I  suppose  they  all  expect  to  pick  up  some 
thing  new." 

"  Oh,  dear,  no.  The  same  things  at  all  the 
auctions.  They  pass  'round  the  country  in  that 
way.  New  things  wouldn't  stand  it.  I've  got 
an  itinerary  of  the  Felter  candlesticks  ever  since 
the  first  auction  in  the  De  Ronde  homestead. 
They've  got  around  here  at  last,  and  I'm  going 
to  try  and  get  them.  You  didn't  come  for  the 
candlesticks,  did  you  ?  " 

"  No,"  replied  Lucy.     "  I'm  after  a  boat." 

"  A  boat,"  repeated  her  companion.  "  I  didn't 
129 


MAKING   OF   A    COUNTRY   HOME 

notice  any  boat  on  the  list.    What  kind  of  a  boat  ? 
Is  it  china  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Lucy.     "  It's  stone." 

"  Then  come  right  in  and  we'll  look  at  the 
crockery  before  Pa  begins  selling.  I  suppose  it's 
a  butter-boat." 

May  Braddock,  straight,  lithe,  and  trim,  had  a 
mature  vivacity  in  singular  contrast  with  the  stolid 
complacency  of  the  country  folk  about  her.  She 
had  graduated  at  a  Normal  School,  and  there  was 
something  in  her  gray  eyes  and  the  gold  specta 
cles  that  covered  them  that  suggested  a  gentle 
superiority  of  acquirement. 

"  There's  Pa  now,"  she  said,  as  they  entered 
the  house.  "  He's  talking  to  Pop  Swarthout. 
I'll  ask  him  where  the  candlesticks  are." 

"  Good  morning,  Mrs.  Dennison,"  said  the 
lawyer,  who  was  the  centre  of  a  group  of  rustics. 
"  How  are  the  birds  ?  " 

Lucy,  who  from  the  first  had  been  inclined  to 
look  upon  Mr.  Braddock  as  slightly  demented 
and  dangerously  irrelevant,  stared  at  his  daughter 
for  an  explanation. 

"  I  refer  to  the  cat,  Medusa,"  the  lawyer  said. 
"  You  know  I  told  you  she  would  exterminate  the 
moles,  but  I  fear  I  neglected  to  tell  you  that  she 
will  exterminate  the  birds  as  well."  And  then  he 
put  the  back  of  his  hand  to  his  mouth,  as  if  sup 
pressing  a  practical  joke. 

"  Pa,"  said  Miss  Braddock,  with  the  slightest 
iciness  of  tone,  "  where  have  you  put  the  brass 
candlesticks  ? " 

130 


THE   DAY   OF   SMALL   THINGS 

"  Doubtless  they  are  in  the  parlour  lot."  And 
looking  at  Mrs.  Dennison,  he  added,  "  My 
daughter  is  an  antiquarian,  you  know." 

"  Antiquary,  Pa,"  said  Miss  Braddock,  turning 
away. 

"  Quite  right,  quite  right,  my  dear,"  said  her 
father.  "  We  are  all  antiquaries  on  these  occa 
sions,  Mrs.  Dennison.  Did  you  find  the  cat  take 
kindly  to  her  new  home  ?  " 

"  Oh,  the  cat  is  all  right,  Mr.  Braddock,"  said 
Lucy.  "  Where  have  you  got  the  boat  ?  " 

This  piece  of  irrelevancy  on  the  part  of  Lucy 
appeared  to  be  so  much  in  his  own  line  that  he 
leaned  toward  her  with  an  extra  air  of  benignity, 
and  said,  "  Exactly  —  the  boat  —  is  there  a  boat 
on  the  schedule  ?  " 

"  Yes,  in  the  stone-ware,  Pa,"  said  Miss  Brad- 
dock,  correctively. 

"  Precisely,"  replied  the  lawyer.  "  1 1  is  undoubt 
edly  moored  in  the  china  closet  in  the  kitchen." 

"  And  the  windlass  bed,  Pa ;  is  that  to  be  put 
up  to-day  —  the  bed  that  George  Washington 
slept  on  ?  "  Mr.  Braddock  looked  at  the  sched 
ule.  "  One  bundle  bedposts,  mahogany,  with 
slats  and  bed  wrench.  Garret." 

"That's  it,"  broke  in  Pop  Swarthout.  "I 
helped  tie  it  up  when  Molly  Concklin  sold  out 
in  '58  and  Job  Felter  bought  it  in.  It  hain't  been 
sot  up  since,  but  I  guess  some  of  the  slats  was 
burnt  when  the  Felters  sold  out  in  '64.  I  allers 
said  George  must  hev  had  chilblains  on  his  back 
if  he  slept  on  them  sticks." 

13* 


MAKING   OF   A   COUNTRY   HOME 

"  There's  no  atmosphere  about  these  people/' 
said  May  Braddock,  as  she  pulled  Lucy  away. 
"  That  historic  bedstead  will  be  stowed  away  in 
some  other  garret  for  a  generation,  unless  I  can 
rescue  it  to-day." 

Just  then  Mart  came  in  and  informed  Lucy 
that  he  had  found  the  boat.  It  was  in  the  stable 
—  would  she  like  to  take  a  look  at  it  ?  —  and  as 
Mr.  Braddock' s  auctioneer-voice  was  beginning  to 
sound,  she  left  Miss  Braddock  and  went  with 
Mart  to  the  carriage-house.  As  she  followed  him 
with  her  skirts  lifted,  she  saw  a  number  of  men 
standing  around  in  various  attitudes  and  groups  of 
indifferent  patience,  much  as  if  they  were  at  a  fu 
neral.  They  were  waiting  for  the  sale  to  reach  the 
live-stock  and  farm  implements,  to  which  alone  the 
masculine  interest  attached. 

Mart  made  his  way  through  barrels  and  bran 
and  lumber  and  rubbish  to  a  pile  of  debris  in  the 
carriage-house,  moving  old  shafts  and  broken 
wheelbarrows  and  stovepipe,  occasionally  remark 
ing  as  he  did  so  :  cc  Look  out  for  the  wagon  grease, 
mum,"  or  "  Mind  the  barbed  wire,  mum,"  and 
pointed  to  an  old  and  worn  board  with  a  ring-bolt 
in  it  and  well  smeared  with  yellow,  dried  mud.  It 
stood  on  end  against  the  siding.  "  There  you  are, 
mum,  and  a  good  one  it  is,  too." 

"What?"  asked  Lucy. 

"  The  stun-boat." 

"  That  old  board  ?  Why,  it's  all  frayed  out  on 
the  edges  and  in  a  filthy  condition.  I'm  not  going 
to  spend  John's  money  on  such  rubbish." 

132 


THE   DAY   OF   SMALL   THINGS 

Standing  close  beside  it  was  an  enormous  and 
rickety  old  pine  bureau  with  five  awry  drawers. 
It  was  stained  or  painted  with  yellow  ochre,  had 
shrunk  at  the  seams,  and  had  lost  most  of  its 
knobs.  It  seemed  to  fascinate  Mart.  He  pulled 
the  drawers  out  with  delight  and  herculean  effort, 
so  that  he  had  to  kick  them  back  with  his  boot. 
It  had  evidently  been  sent  to  the  barn  for  kindling- 
wood.  As  Lucy  expressed  a  strong  desire  to  get 
out  of  the  dreadful  place,  Mart  opened  the  way 
for  her  again,  looking  back  longingly  at  the  old 
bureau  and  remarking  as  they  went  along :  "  Take 
care  of  the  hole  in  the  floor,  mum,"  and  "  Look 
out  for  the  tar,  mum." 

When  she  reached  the  house  again  the  auction 
sale  had  brought  everybody  into  the  kitchen,  and 
she  heard  Mr.  Braddock' s  voice  saying :  "  Now, 
then,  what  am  I  bid  for  the  dinner  service  —  soup 
plates,  cups,  cups  and  saucers,  etc.,  and  three 
old  blue  platters  —  what  am  I  offered  for  the 
lot  ? " 

"  Thirty  cents,"  said  Mrs.  Swarthout,  promptly. 

"Fifty,"  said  Miss  Braddock,  looking  at  Mrs. 
Swarthout  as  if  that  lady  ought  to  go  to  the  foot 
of  the  class. 

"  I  am  offered  fifty  cents,"  smiled  the  auction 
eer.  "  As  you  are  practical  people  and  these  things 
were  made  for  service,  I  trust  that  you  will  save 
them  from  going  to  the  Braddock  mu-se-um" 

"  Mu-j^-um,  Pa,"  said  Miss  Braddock. 

Lucy  had  scarcely  reached  her  phaeton  when 
May  Braddock  came  after  her.  "  Must  you  go, 

133 


MAKING   OF   A   COUNTRY   HOME 

dear  ?  "  she  said.  "  I  hope  we  shall  know  each 
other  better.  I've  got  the  platters." 

"  So  glad,"  said  Lucy  ;  "  but,  dear,  what  makes 
you  correct  your  father's  pronunciation  in  public  ? 
It's  so  odd,  don't  you  know." 

"  Oh,  he  prefers  it,  and  taught  me  to  do  it. 
He  mispronounces  purposely  so  as  to  trot  out  my 
education.  You  know,  I  told  you  he  was  peculiar." 

When  John  came  home  he  was  regaled  with  a 
most  amusing  account  of  the  auction,  but  when  he 
asked  for  the  stone-boat  his  wife  informed  him 
that  the  old  board  was  too  entirely  ridiculous  and 
that  she  didn't  buy  the  rubbish.  But  Mart  told 
him,  when  they  were  in  the  workshop,  that  be  had 
bought  it  quietly  and  was  going  up  with  the  wagon 
to  fetch  it.  Not  long  after  this  Lucy  saw  him 
drive  in,  and  the  most  conspicuous  object  in  the 
wagon  was  the  old  yellow  bureau,  with  the  stone- 
boat  leaning  against  it.  Such  stubborn  infatuation 
on  the  part  of  the  men  piqued  her  a  little,  and 
when  she  saw  John  sliding  about  the  grounds  on 
that  absurd  board,  driving  the  white  horse  with 
exaggerated  delight,  while  Mart  walked  beside  him 
and  shared  the  responsibility,  her  anxiety  for  her 
husband's  mental  equilibrium  increased.  Nor 
were  his  explanations  at  all  soothing.  "My  dear," 
he  would  say,  "  the  basis  of  all  improvements  in 
this  country  is  the  stone-boat.  With  that  every 
thing  is  possible.  You  wait.  Get  up,  there ; 
whoa.  Get  up."  And  John  went  sliding  off 
across  the  grass,  leaving  a  wake  of  crushed  sod 
behind  him. 


THE   DAY   OF   SMALL   THINGS 

"  I  do  believe,"  she  said,  as  he  came  back  shout- 
ingly,  with  Mart  beside  him,  "  that  you  will  want 
me  next  to  drive  the  dreadful  thing  to  the  depot 
for  you." 

"  Well,  if  you  do,"  said  John,  "  you'll  be  sure 
to  be  in  the  first  rank  with  it,  ahead  of  everybody 
else." 

Lucy's  emotion  and  perplexity  were  expressed 
in  one  sentence.  She  involuntarily  clasped  her 
hands  and  exclaimed,  "  What  are  you  going  to 
do,  John?" 

And  John,  looking  admiringly  after  the  stone- 
boat  that,  under  Mart's  guidance,  was  sliding  back 
to  the  barn,  replied:  — 

"  You  just  wait." 

It  is  no  disparagement  of  Lucy's  discernment 
to  say  that  she  could  not  look  through  all  the 
coarse  and  dirty  preparations  to  the  idea  which  was 
in  John's  mind.  Entitled  to  respect  (as  she  un 
doubtedly  was)  for  being  an  exemplary,  ordinary 
person,  and  in  that  regard  quite  the  equal  of  her 
excellent  husband,  she  was,  nevertheless,  a  woman, 
and  somewhat  inclined,  as  all  women  are,  to  jump 
to  ideal  conclusions  and  not  wade  through  red  mud 
to  their  accomplishment. 

There  was  a  month  of  devastating  "  ruction  " 
that  came  perilously  near  to  bringing  on  a  matri 
monial  separation,  and  Lucy  always  attributed 
what  she  called  her  misfortune  to  that  stone-boat. 
She  may  not  have  said  so,  but  in  her  secret  heart 
she  dated  many  of  her  discomforts  from  the  arrival 
of  that  accursed  utensil.  Nor  were  any  efforts  of 

'35 


MAKING   OF   A   COUNTRY   HOME 

John's  logic  capable  of  removing  her  antipathy  to 
it.  He  tried  to  explain  to  her  that  in  a  country 
of  many  stones  it  would  be  impossible  to  move 
them  by  lifting  them  into  a  wagon  and  out  again. 
But  they  could  be  rolled  easily  upon  a  flat  stone- 
boat  and  pulled  anywhere.  To  which  Lucy  inva 
riably  replied:  "But  why  move  them  at  all?" 
Upon  which  John  fell  into  his  usual  complacency 
and  said  :  "  You  just  wait." 

She  saw  with  unconcealed  consternation  that 
John  had  hired  a  labourer  who  was  digging  an 
unsightly  trench  across  the  entire  front  of  the 
property  and  piling  up  a  long  mound  of  red  dirt. 
One  or  two  rough  planks  were  laid  across  at  the 
gate,  for  the  women  to  walk  upon.  It  was  no 
relief  to  be  told  by  John  that  the  red  dirt  would 
make  the  finest  kind  of  a  walk  when  it  got  hard, 
and  she  saw  that  he  was  piling  it  up  in  mounds 
along  the  only  available  path  they  had.  Nor  was 
that  the  limit  of  John's  irrepressible  dementia  — 
he  was  pulling  the  stones  out  of  the  great  wall  and 
heaping  them  up  parallel  to  his  trench,  and  look 
out  when  she  would,  Lucy  was  sure  to  see  Mart 
sliding  across  the  grounds  on  the  stone-boat  and 
wearing  the  grass  into  smooth  and  ghastly  wakes. 
She  had  resolved  to  ask  no  more  questions,  and 
tried  to  assume  a  superior  indifference,  as  when 
one  condones  a  failing  with  affection.  But  when 
she  saw  an  enormous  hole,  thirty  feet  long  and 
twelve  feet  wide,  opening  at  the  north  of  the 
house,  and  men  with  picks  and  shovels  heaping 
up  another  pyramid  of  red  soil,  she  went  off  to 


THE   DAY   OF   SMALL  THINGS 

Miss  Braddock  and  began  to  form  an  entirely 
new  intimacy  of  condolence  with  that  lively  and 
spectacled  antiquary,  who  opened  her  heart  to 
her  and  told  her  of  all  the  fresh  auctions  in  the 
county,  and  took  her  off  on  long  excursions  in 
her  basket-phaeton. 

One  Sunday  morning,  as  John  and  his  wife 
were  eating  their  breakfast  with  a  great  deal  more 
luxury  and  happiness  than  they  seemed  to  be 
aware  of,  a  tremendous  summer  shower  came  up, 
and  John  and  Mart  rushed  out  to  keep  the  water 
from  pouring  into  their  big  hole.  In  less  than 
five  minutes  Mart  was  driving  the  white  horse, 
with  the  stone-boat,  through  the  summer  storm 
to  the  rescue.  Lucy  and  Harold  stood  at  the 
south  window,  a  little  tremulously,  and  watched 
the  water  come  down  in  pelting  sheets,  and 
listened  to  the  peals  of  thunder  rolling  off  in  the 
Ramapo  Mountains.  But  while  they  stood  there 
the  storm  subsided  as  quickly  as  it  came.  The 
yellow  sun  shone  out,  making  everything  glisten 
and  flash,  and  the  birds  began  to  rejoice  from  all 
the  trees  and  shrubs.  Lucy  caught  Harold  by 
the  hand  and  sallied  out  to  see  if  her  flowers  had 
been  uprooted  by  the  deluge.  Coming  around 
in  the  narrow  path  at  the  south  of  the  house  to 
the  front  grounds,  she  saw  John  and  Mart  stand 
ing  there  in  attitudes  of  imbecile  dismay,  and  the 
white  horse,  still  dripping  with  water,  was  patiently 
waiting  to  see  what  would  next  occur.  John 
pointed,  without  saying  anything,  to  the  path 
that  led  to  the  gate,  and  one  glance  told  Lucy 

137 


MAKING   OF   A   COUNTRY   HOME 

what  had  happened.  The  mounds  of  red  dirt 
had  been  beaten  down  and  liquefied  into  rivers 
of  chocolate  that  inundated  everything.  A  miry 
slough  extended  from  the  house  to  the  gate,  and 
on  either  side  the  worn  tracks  of  the  stone-boat 
glimmered  now  with  red  puddles.  The  whole 
aspect  of  the  place  was  enough  to  make  a  tidy 
woman  heartsick. 

But  before  she  could  arrange  that  feminine 
privilege,  a  vehicle  drove  up  in  the  road  before 
the  gate,  the  driver  jumped  down  and  assisted  an 
old  lady  across  the  planks  to  the  entrance-way, 
and  Lucy,  with  a  genuine  burst  of  tenderness  and 
consternation,  cried :  — 

"  Heavens  — mother  !  " 

For  a  moment  there  was  a  speechless  tableau. 
The  old  lady  at  the  gate  was  staring  about  her 
with  that  soft  and  submissive  expression  that 
Lucy  had  often  seen  before  upon  her  dear  old 
face  when  she  was  singing :  — 

"  On  Jordan's  stormy  banks  I  stand, 
And  cast  a  wistful  eye." 

John  had  his  rubber  boots  on,  and  calling  out 
lustily :  "  Hold  on  a  minute,  madam,"  began  to 
wade  to  the  gate  with  a  proper  sense  of  the  crisis. 
He  succeeded  in  reaching  the  old  lady  and  her 
bundles,  and  was  seen  making  violent,  apologetic 
gestures.  A  moment  later  he  called  out  to 
Mart :  "  Fetch  the  stone-boat,  old  man."  Mart 
grasped  the  situation  in  an  instant.  He  rushed 
into  the  house,  brought  out  a  kitchen  chair,  placed 

138 


THE   DAY   OF   SMALL  THINGS 

it  on  the  stone-boat,  and  then  getting  aboard  him 
self,  slid  off  to  the  rescue.  Then  it  was  that  the 
old  lady,  with  some  persuasion,  was  induced  to 
mount  the  extraordinary  vehicle,  and  with  her 
feet  drawn  up  on  the  rungs  of  the  chair,  and  her 
skirts  well  gathered  about  her  ankles,  she  came 
smoothly  up  the  path  as  softly  as  the  approach 
of  twilight,  John  and  Mart  on  either  side  plough 
ing  through  the  mud  with  the  conscious  pride  of  a 
guard  of  honour.  Meanwhile  Lucy,  between  hys 
terical  laughter  and  tears,  was  protesting  and 
explaining.  "You  see,  ma,  it's  the  improve 
ments.  John  could  just  as  well  have  hitched  up 
the  phaeton,  but  he  is  so  self-willed.  Do  come  in, 
and  we  will  see  if  we  can  find  a  place  where  there 
isn't  any  red  mud." 

As  the  door  closed  on  this  incident,  the  driver 
in  the  road,  who  had  been  standing  on  his  box 
watching  the  operation,  suddenly  whipped  up  his 
horses  and  went  furiously  off,  as  if  anxious  to  get 
to  the  depot  while  it  was  all  fresh  in  his  mind,  and 
once  there  doubtless  told,  with  such  a  fellow's  dis 
regard  of  accuracy,  how  they  "slid  her  up  and 
backed  her  in." 

Such  episodes,  it  may  be  remarked,  never  come 
singly,  and  in  this  respect  they  are  akin  to  mis 
fortunes.  Scarcely  had  the  mother  and  her 
bundles  been  safely  housed  than  another  vehicle 
drove  up.  This  time  it  was  a  buggy,  much  mud- 
bespattered,  and  the  driver  waved  a  piece  of 
paper  in  the  air  without  attempting  to  come  in. 
When  Mart  obtained  it,  what  was  John's  aston- 

139 


MAKING   OF   A   COUNTRY   HOME 

ishment  to  find  that  it  was  a  telegram  which  read 
as  follows :  — 

"JoHN  DENNISON  : 

"Meet  us  at  the  9.40  train.  Invitation  accepted.  Have 
brought  friend.  HOLCOMB." 

John  looked  at  the  announcement  with  stupid 
amazement.  His  mind  travelled  back  to  that 
morning  on  the  ferryboat  when  he  had  met  Hoi- 
comb,  and,  as  a  country  gentleman,  triumphed 
over  him  and  shot  vague  invitations  at  him.  That 
piece  of  insensate  folly  had  now  come  home  to 
roost,  bringing  a  friend  with  it. 

"  Nine-forty/'  he  said.  "  It  is  now  a  quarter 
past  ten." 

Telegrams  in  the  country  are  not  delivered 
promptly.  The  visitors  must  have  come  on  the 
same  train  with  the  mother,  and  would  be  along 
presently. 

With  the  profound  sense  of  the  ordinary  man, 
which  in  John  so  often  took  the  place  of  genius, 
he  set  his  teeth  and  braced  himself  to  the  situa 
tion.  With  the  telegram  in  his  hand  he  an 
nounced  to  his  wife,  who  was  already  showing  the 
house  to  her  mother,  that  "more  company  was 
coming." 

To  his  astonishment  this  information,  which 
he  tried  his  utmost  to  impart  with  an  air  of  good 
nature,  went  off  in  the  wrong  direction. 

"  More  company,  John  ?  I  hope  you  do  not 
consider  mother  company." 

This  was  so  crass  and  unwarranted  an  interpre- 
140 


THE   DAY   OF   SMALL   THINGS 

tation  that  John  gave  way  to  annoyance.  "  I  am 
not  considering  mother  at  all,"  he  said. 

Lucy  gave  a  little  gasp  that  ran  into  something 
like  a  sob. 

"  Of  course,  you're  not  considering  mother  — 
you're  just  acting  like  a  brute." 

And  mother,  with  supreme  indifference,  re 
marked  :  "  Oh,  don't  consider  me.  I  didn't 
expect  any  consideration  when  I  came." 

This  speech  and  the  crushed  air  of  injured 
innocence  in  both  women  threatened  to  break  the 
back  of  the  ordinary  man.  He  threw  the  tele 
gram  down  a  little  defiantly,  saying :  — 

"  It's  your  friend  Holcomb,  not  mine.  And 
he's  brought  some  other  friend  of  yours  with  him. 
They  will  probably  stay  a  month.  There,  I  hear 
them  shouting  for  you  now." 

Then  he  strode  out. 

As  he  reached  the  back  porch,  torn  with  many 
conflicting  emotions,  he  came  upon  Medusa,  fat, 
sleek,  and  unperturbed,  lying  in  the  sun.  She 
looked  at  him  with  calm  contempt.  Some 
feathers  of  a  young  oriole  that  she  had  just  eaten 
were  fluttering  about. 

John  did  something  which  was  certainly  with 
out  excuse  and  quite  beneath  the  dignity  of  an 
ordinary  man. 

He  kicked  Medusa  violently  with  his  rubber 
boot. 


141 


CHAPTER  VII 

IN    WHICH    JOHN     ENTERTAINS    ANGELS    UNAWARES 

THE  arrival  of  visitors  at   this  time  was 
painfully  inopportune,  but  it  had  to  be 
faced  manfully,  if  not  hospitably.     John 
made  his  way  to  the  front  gate  once  more,  and 
Holcomb,  who  was  climbing  out  of  the  vehicle, 
greeted  him  familiarly  :  — 

"  Nice  chap  you  are  to  meet  your  friends  at 
the  depot.  Didn't  you  get  my  telegram  ? " 

"  Certainly,"  said  John.  "  But  you  didn't  get 
mine,  telling  you  not  to  come  —  all  upside  down 
—  impossible  to  entertain  —  " 

"  No  —  didn't  get  it,"  said  Holcomb,  lifting 
out  his  traps.  "  Can't  be  helped  now.  This  is 
Sprague.  Sprague  —  Dennison.  Dennison  — 
Sprague.  Can't  we  drive  in  somewhere  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  John,  "  got  everything  laid  down 
in  red  cement,  and  it  isn't  dry.  I  think  you 
will  have  to  go  round." 

142 


ENTERTAINS  ANGELS  UNAWARES 

"All  right,"  responded  Holcomb,  who  was 
evidently  not  to  be  deterred.  "  Sprague  has  got 
light  woollens  on.  Red  cement  is  indelible,  isn't 
it  ?  How  do  we  go  round  ?  " 

"  Drive  up  the  road  a  little,  get  over  the  stone 
fence,  come  down  that  field,  and  cross  the  other 
fence  into  my  back  ground." 

"  Good  enough,"  responded  the  cheery  Hoi- 
comb.  "  Say,  do  you  know  that's  a  fine  effect 
of  colour  where  the  red  cement  has  run  down  the 
bank  ?  Looks  as  if  your  improvements  had  cut 
their  throat.  Ha,  ha  !  " 

Nothing  daunted,  the  guests  climbed  the  ad 
joining  fences  and  came  in  at  the  rear.  Sprague, 
in  light  flannels,  wearing  tan-coloured  gloves  and 
shoes  and  carrying  a  cane,  evinced  a  weary  humour 
at  the  proceedings,  but  Holcomb  insisted  with 
much  eagerness  that  the  irregular  and  unconven 
tional  thing  was  just  what  they  were  looking  for. 
"  Sprague,  there,  he's  so  infernally  lazy,  it  will  do 
him  good  to  see  something  practical  going  on," 
he  said. 

"  But  of  all  people  in  the  world,"  exclaimed 
Lucy,  a  little  flushed  with  excitement,  "what 
ever  put  it  in  your  head  to  come  up  here  ? " 

"  Dennison,"  replied  Holcomb  promptly. 
"cCome  up,'  says  he,  c  to  my  country  place  and 
stay  a  month.  It  will  freshen  you  up/  Sprague 
needs  freshening,  so  I  brought  him  along.  Don't 
make  any  apologies." 

"To  tell  the  truth  —  "  began  John,  apologeti 
cally. 

H3 


MAKING   OF   A   COUNTRY   HOME 

Holcomb  held  up  his  hands.  "  Don't,'*  he 
said.  "  No  family  truths.  If  there  is  anything 
Sprague  dislikes,  it  is  the  truth.  I  can  sleep  in 
the  coach-house  with  the  groom.  But,  say,  this 
is  pastoral,"  and  he  took  a  survey  of  the  land 
scape. 

Sprague  pulled  his  light  mustache,  blushed 
slightly,  and  said :  "  I  fear  we  are  intruding." 

And  such  is  the  inbred  cowardice  of  politeness 
and  the  force  of  a  hospitable  instinct  that  Lucy 
said :  "  Oh,  no,  certainly  not,"  and  John  re 
marked  :  "  Don't  mention  it,"  and  even  the 
mother,  who  shared  the  general  duty  of  deception, 
tried  to  look  as  if  the  place  had  only  needed 
Sprague  to  be  perfect. 

When  John  got  them  alone  he  tried  to  explain. 
"  I'll  have  to  ask  you  to  rough  it,"  he  said. 
"  We  intend  to  enlarge  the  house  later  on,  but  at 
present  we  are  a  little  cramped.  You'll  not  mind 
bunking  in  anyhow  ?  " 

Then,  for  fear  Tilka  would  strike,  he  caught 
that  stalwart  maid-servant  and  whispered  in  an 
aside  to  her  as  he  slipped  a  bank-note  into  her 
hand:  "They  will  not  stay  long  —  do  the  best 
you  can."  And  Tilka,  bridling  a  little  at  the 
bribery,  said :  "  I  guess  I  can  so  well  do  my 
work  as  if  you  do  not  haf  to  pay  me  all  ofer 
again."  Then  she  put  the  money  in  her  bosom, 
and  rushed  at  the  stove  with  an  Alpine  war-cry 
that  was  meant  for  a  yodel. 

Notwithstanding  the  domestic  annoyance  to 
which  the  household  was  at  first  subjected  by 

144 


ENTERTAINS  ANGELS  UNAWARES 

these  unexpected  visitors,  the  visitors,  neverthe 
less,  fitted  themselves  somehow  into  the  situation 
of  affairs  with  Bohemian  ease  and  added  a  pleas 
ant  element  to  the  atmosphere  of  drudgery 
brought  about  by  John's  inhuman  improvements. 
Holcomb  laughed  at  discomforts,  slept  on  the 
floor  in  the  garret,  talked  art  wildly  and  aim 
lessly,  sang  songs  of  his  own  composing,  picked 
raspberries  like  a  hired  man,  and  ate  everything 
that  was  placed  before  him.  He  was  in  temper 
ament  as  well  as  in  appetite  an  exhilarating 
vacuum,  with  a  joyous  contempt  for  anything 
that  was  serious.  As  for  Sprague,  he  was  an 
interesting  mystery.  There  was  something 
about  his  slim  figure,  and  especially  about  his 
pale  face  that  flushed  at  the  slightest  provoca 
tion —  a  suggestion  of  delicacy  —  that  piqued 
curiosity  without  ever  gratifying  it.  His  ret 
icence  appeared  to  be  a  sort  of  exhaustion,  as 
if  long  association  with  Holcomb  had  worn  him 
out. 

When  John  went  away  to  the  city  and  left 
these  two  men  on  the  place,  he  had  some  mis 
givings.  They  would  add  to  Lucy's  worry  and 
work,  and  be  very  much  in  the  way  of  the  neces 
sary  and  dirty  drudgery  of  getting  the  place  to 
rights.  But  when  he  came  back  at  night,  Lucy 
told  him  that  his  visitors  had  been  off  all  day  — 
she  had  seen  nothing  of  them,  and  it  was  not  till 
dinner-time  that  they  came  back,  tired  out.  But 
after  dinner,  when  the  household  assembled 
under  the  cedars,  the  guests  contributed  an  ele- 

145 


MAKING   OF   A   COUNTRY   HOME 

ment  of  pleasantry  that  was  much  needed.  Lucy 
had  sent  word  to  May  Braddock :  "  We've  got  a 
real  live  artist  here  from  the  city.  At  least  he 
says  he  is  an  artist,  but  I  can  hardly  believe  it, 
for  he  blushes  at  the  slightest  glance.  Come  up 
and  watch  him." 

The  invitation  was  promptly  accepted,  and 
May  Braddock  drove  up  in  her  basket-phaeton 
and  joined  the  party  under  the  trees.  Then  for 
the  first  time,  the  anxieties  and  discomforts  of 
the  new  home  were  forgotten,  and  its  petty 
duties  disappeared  in  a  pleasant  circle  where  all 
gave  free  rein  to  their  best  spirits,  and  Holcomb 
suddenly  rose  to  the  full  height  of  his  delightful 
emptiness.  May  Braddock  probably  never  saw 
anybody  like  Holcomb  before.  She  stared  at 
him  and  listened  to  him  with  slight  trepidation, 
not  knowing  at  what  moment  his  gayety  of  heart 
would  break  something.  But  it  never  did. 

John  was  playing  the  host  for  the  first  time  in 
his  new  home,  and  it  was  very  delightful  to  see 
these  unlike  people  melt  for  the  time  being  into 
his  own  circle. 

Holcomb,  as  an  incident,  might  be  very 
refreshing,  like  a  shower,  but  a  shower  loses  all 
its  gladsomeness  when  it  threatens  to  become 
permanent,  and  John  had  a  good  many  serious 
things  on  his  mind  that  worried  him,  and  he 
would  have  given  much  to  have  found  a  serious 
and  sympathetic  listener  who  could  have  entered 
into  his  perplexities.  Sitting  there  under  the 
trees  in  the  evening,  Lucy  announced  with  the 


ENTERTAINS  ANGELS  UNAWARES 

air  of  a  discoverer  that  Holcomb  composed  and 
sung  his  own  songs.  "  You  should  hear  him 
sing  one  of  his  own  compositions,"  she  said  to 
May  Braddock. 

"  Oh,  if  you  only  would,"  said  May  Braddock, 
promptly.  "  What  kind  of  songs  do  you  com 
pose,  Mr.  Holcomb  ?  — classic  or  romantic  ?  " 

"  Only  the  too-ral-oo-ral  kind,  Miss  Brad- 
dock,"  he  replied.  "  Those  naive  outgivings  of 
the  heart  which  have  no  meaning." 

May  Braddock  looked  at  Holcomb  very  much 
as  if  he  were  a  curiosity.  The  too-ral-oo-ral  was 
something  beyond  her  grasp. 

"  I  should  like  to  hear  a  song  that  has  no 
meaning,"  she  said.  "  Most  of  the  popular 
songs  have  too  much." 

"Then  I  am  your  pansy,"  said  Holcomb. 
"  Mine  is  a  simple  goo-goo  of  the  soul.  I  call 
it  the  mayonnaise  of  music,  made  to  be  poured 
over  the  dessert  of  one's  indifference.  It  makes 
the  sad  heart  gay,  that's  all." 

Then  the  women  coaxed  him  into  the  house, 
and  presently,  through  the  open  window  came 
the  thump  of  the  cottage  piano  and  a  rich, 
high  baritone,  rollicking  through  the  following 
song :  — 

THE  PRETTY   LITTLE   TOO-RAL-OO-RAL-A 

A  catbird  sat  on  a  mulberry  spray 

And  told  his  tale  to  the  night. 

He  had  nothing  to  tell,  and  he  told  it  so  well, 

That  the  moon  she  was  filled  with  delight. 

147 


MAKING   OF   A   COUNTRY   HOME 

She  listened  all  night  and  she  listened  all  day 
To  the  mystic  charm  which,  I  might  as  well  say, 
Was  nothing  on  earth  but  a  too-ral-a. 
Such  a  ravishing,  rollicking,  melting  strain, 
It  was  half  of  it  gladness  and  half  of  it  pain, 
Till  it  seemed  she  could  listen  forever  and  aye 
To  his  pretty  little  too-ral-oo-ral-a. 

A  lover  leaned  over  a  high-backed  chair, 

And  poured  out  his  aching  heart 

To  a  pensive  and  languishing  maiden  fair 

From  whom  he  could  never  part. 

What  it  was  that  he  said  from  his  burning  soul, 

The  maiden  could  never  by  any  means  say, 

It  was  only  a  ravishing  too-ral-a. 

And  she  lost  her  heart  and  she  lost  her  head, 

She  never  could  tell  what  it  was  he  said, 

But  she  died  all  the  same  in  the  ravishing  sway 

Of  his  pretty  little  too-ral-oo-ral-a. 

And  in  Nature  and  Life  it  is  always  so. 

The  breezes  play  and  the  waters  flow, 

And  the  thing  that  will  win  in  the  night  or  the  day 

Is  the  thing  that  we  never  by  any  means  say. 

If  your  love  would  be  deep  and  forever  stay, 

You  must  give  it  its  own  sweet  ravishing  sway, 

With  nothing  to  guide  it  but  too-ral-a. 

For  the  heart  that  is  purest  is  sure  to  be  caught 

With  the  sound  that  is  free  from  suspicion  of  thought. 

To  sigh  and  to  simper  is  much  the  best  way 

With  a  pretty  little  too-ral-oo-ral-a. 


When  they  returned  to  the  trees  where  John 
and  Sprague  were  sitting,  Holcomb  cried  out: 
"  Now  don't  shatter  the  charm  by  asking  me 
what  it  means.  If  I  had  ever  succeeded  in  mean- 

148 


ENTERTAINS  ANGELS  UNAWARES 

ing  anything  I  should  be  as  superior  and  as  sad 
as  Sprague." 

But  nobody  made  any  comments.  The  fleet 
ing  odour  of  too-ral-oo-ral  seemed  to  be  beyond 
the  general  grasp.  Mother,  who  resumed  her 
rocker,  leaned  over  to  May  Braddock,  and  asked, 
"  Do  you  use  pound-for-pound  in  doing  up 
blackberries  ? "  and  John,  who  had  apparently 
been  discussing  material  things  with  Sprague, 
took  up  the  broken  thread  of  his  conversation 
and  remarked,  "  I  find  that  the  common  hy 
draulic  cement,  one-twenty-five  a  barrel,  answers 
my  purpose  quite  as  well  as  Portland  cement." 

Holcomb  looked  from  one  to  the  other. 
Lucy  was  the  only  person  in  whom  the  too-ral- 
oo-ral  appeared  to  be  struggling  for  a  lodgment. 
She  promptly  came  to  Holcomb's  assistance,  and 
said,  "You  are  a  positive  relief,  Mr.  Holcomb, 
in  a  place  where  everything  has  a  tendency  to 
settle  down  into  seriousness." 

"Ah,"  said  Holcomb,  "you  are  a  musician, 
and  know  that  song,  after  all,  is  only  an  aroma. 
Miss  Braddock,  I  fancy,  does  not  care  for 


music." 


"Yes,  I  do,"  said  May  Braddock,  tartly, 
"  music  that  means  something." 

"  O  why  reduce  it  to  such  a  dreadful  level  — 
with  dirt-heaps  and  stones  and  red  cement  ?  " 
asked  Holcomb.  "  If  you  want  meaning,  look 
about  you  ;  look  at  Sprague." 

"  I  can  listen  to  the  great  songs,  almost  re 
ligiously,"  said  May  Braddock,  "but  your  too- 

149 


MAKING   OF  A   COUNTRY  HOME 

ral-oo-ral  is  in  a  language  that  I  have  not 
learned." 

"The  great  songs,"  repeated  Holcomb  with 
an  air  of  awe,  "  as  for  instance  ?  " 

May  Braddock  thought  a  moment.  "  If  you 
will  sing  c  Drink  to  Me  Only  with  Thine 
Eyes/  " 

Holcomb  began  clutching  at  something  in  the 
air,  as  if  a  distant  vision  had  passed  before  him. 
"  Gracious,"  he  said,  "  you  like  songs  with  eyes 
in  them,  don't  you  —  like  potatoes  ?  It's  truly 
rural,  which  is  the  next  thing  to  being  too-ral- 
oo-ral.  I've  got  a  song  of  my  own,  all  eyes,  like 
an  audience  at  a  vaudeville.  When  you  go  in  I 
will  sing  it  to  you  —  straight,  and  win  back  your 
faith  in  me." 

Then  nothing  would  do  but  Lucy  must  insist, 
with  that  delightful  perversity  that  belongs  to  all 
delightful  women,  that  they  must  go  in  and  hear 
a  song  aimed  straight  at  Miss  Braddock,  and 
when  Holcomb  got  them  into  an  encircling 
group,  with  May  Braddock  close  beside  him,  he 
started  in  on  another  of  his  compositions  which 
he  called  — 


BLUE   EYES   TOLD    ME   SO 

I  asked  myself  when  in  my  youth, 
If  womankind  were  ended, 

If  anywhere  in  life  was  truth 
With  gentleness  still  blended. 

Oh,  yes,  my  heart  would  always  sajr, 
The  truth  at  last  you'll  know. 

150 


ENTERTAINS  ANGELS  UNAWARES 

(At  this  point  Holcomb  turned  and  looked 
with  most  killing  effect  at  May  Braddock,  as  he 
added  the  last  lines  :) 

I  looked  into  a  face  one  day, 
And  blue  eyes  told  me  so. 

(Sprague,  who  was  looking  at  the  carpet  and 
pulling  his  light  mustache,  added  a  blushing  re 
frain  of  his  own  at  this  manoeuvre.) 

Can  woman  love  as  calmly  sweet 

As  once  our  mothers  did  ; 
And  under  all  the  guiles  we  meet 

Is  constancy  still  hid  ? 
Oh,  yes,  my  heart  replied,  she  can, 

As  in  the  long  ago. 

(The  same  killing  languishment,  as  he  added :) 

Just  look  into  blue  eyes,  my  man, 
And  they  will  tell  you  so. 

(Blushing  refrain  from  Sprague.) 

So  now  Pve  grown  mature,  indeed, 

And  hold  to  something  true. 
The  little  grain  of  mustard  seed 

Has  grown,  my  love,  like  you. 
The  flowers  are  springing  in  my  heart 

From  the  rains  of  long  ago. 

(Langmshment  fortissimo :) 

I  look  into  your  face,  my  love, 
Blue  eyes  have  told  me  so. 


MAKING   OF   A   COUNTRY   HOME 

No  sooner  was  this  ditty  rounded  up,  with 
Lucy  doing  all  the  applauding  and  Sprague  all 
the  blushing,  than  John  took  his  friend  by  the 
arm,  and  they  went  back  under  the  trees,  where 
the  serious  thread  of  their  former  conversation 
was  picked  up. 

"  You  see,  as  I  was  telling  you,"  John  began, 
"  I've  got  a  clear  picture  in  my  mind  of  what  I 
want  to  do,  but  it  is  next  to  impossible  to  make 
anybody  see  it  till  it  is  framed  and  hung  up." 

"  Always  the  way  with  pictures,"  said  Sprague. 
"Always  a  bad  idea  to  have  everybody  in  the 
studio  with  you,  where  it's  dirty  work,  and  they 
misunderstand  your  model." 

"  What  I  object  to,"  said  John,  "  is  that  they 
will  not  take  my  word  for  it  —  that  it  is  a  pic 
ture.  Even  my  wife  —  the  best  woman  that 
ever  lived,  Sprague  —  thinks  it's  a  dirt-heap,  and 
when  I  get  enthusiastic  about  it,  she  says,  c  Yes, 
John,  but  it  was  all  so  comfortable  before  you 
disturbed  it,'  and  that's  crushing.  As  for  the 
old  residents  about  here,  they  do  not  believe  in 
anything  that  they  have  not  seen.  The  mason 
told  me  that  a  cistern  built  in  the  shape  of  a 
parallelogram  was  some  kind  of  a  heresy.  He 
had  always  seen  them  built  round,  and  he  didn't 
like  to  depart  from  the  faith  of  his  fathers. 
There's  that  stone  wall  over  there.  It's  a  fine 
quarry.  Some  of  the  boulders  at  the  bottom  of 
it  weigh  a  ton.  They  only  needed  splitting  up 
to  make  the  best  building  material  in  the  world. 
When  I  proposed  to  split  them  the  mason  said 

152 


ENTERTAINS  ANGELS  UNAWARES 

it  wouldn't  pay  —  they  would  have  to  be  drilled 
and  blasted,  and  if  I  bought  the  drills,  sledges, 
tamps,  and  powder  and  fuse  a  man  couldn't  get 
away  with  much  more  than  one  of  them  in  a  day, 
and  it  would  cost  more  than  it  was  worth.  If  I 
had  been  a  man  who  depended  on  the  experi 
ence  of  the  veterans,  I  would  have  given  up  the 
job,  for  I  calculated  that,  with  this  old  process  of 
drilling  and  blasting,  the  stone  would  cost  me 
about  eighteen  cents  a  cubic  foot  to  get  it  out. 
But  you  are  not  interested  in  these  details." 
"  Oh,  it's  just  lovely,"  said  Sprague.  "  Go 


on." 


"  Well,  do  you  know  what  I  did  ?  I  found  a 
man  who  had  been  taking  out  trees  over  in  the 
mountains.  I  learned  something.  He  did  not 
cut  the  trees  down  with  an  axe  and  leave  a  stump 
that  would  take  four  men  and  a  yoke  of  oxen 
two  days  to  get  out.  He  simply  poked  a  hole 
down  among  the  roots  with  a  crowbar,  shoved  a 
dynamite  cartridge  with  a  fuse  on  it,  into  the  hole, 
and  lifted  the  tree,  roots  and  all,  into  the  air." 
"  Lovely,"  said  Sprague.  "  Go  on." 
"  Then  I  remembered  that  one  spring,  when 
there  had  been  a  washout  on  the  West  Shore 
Railroad,  and  a  big  boulder  had  come  down  on 
the  track,  and  all  the  expert  workmen  of  the 
neighbourhood  were  calculating  how  long  it  would 
take  to  get  it  off —  the  engineers  came  up  on  a 
construction  car,  laid  a  cartridge  on  top  of  it,  and 
blew  it  to  flinders  in  about  fifteen  minutes.  My 
man  Mart  and  I  uncovered  some  of  the  big  stones, 


MAKING   OF   A   COUNTRY   HOME 

and  several  of  them  were  as  big  as  hogsheads. 
Swarthout  came  over  and  looked  at  them.  *  Cost 
you  about  five  dollars  and  fifty  cents  to  bury  one 
of  'em/  said  he.  c  Don't  intend  to  bury  'em/  said 
I.  '  Cost  you  almost  as  much  to  drill  'em/  said  he. 
'  Don't  intend  to  drill  'em/  said  I.  He  looked  like 
a  yawning  gulf  of  compassionate  superciliousness. 
c  Mebbe/  says  he,  c  you  be  agoin'  to  saw  'em  up 
into  slabs  fer  mantelpieces.'  My  dynamite  man 
drove  up  one  day  when  the  women  and  the  boy 
were  off  driving.  He  laid  a  cartridge  on  each  one 
of  the  stones,  and  they  fell  into  sharp-faced  build 
ing  chunks,  just  as  nicely  as  if  he  had  cut  a 
pumpkin-pie  with  a  knife." 

"  Lovely,"  said  Sprague.     cc  Go  on." 

f<  When  Swarthout  came  over  and  saw  the 
boulders  all  divided  up  beautifully,  the  expression 
of  his  face  paid  me  for  the  cartridges.  Regular 
Quincy  granite,  some  of  those  stones.  Shouldn't 
wonder  if  they  had  rolled  down  from  Massachu 
setts  a  million  years  ago  —  but  this  tires  you." 

"  No,  no,"  said  Sprague.  "  It's  a  fairy  tale.  Go 
on." 

"  Well,  sir,  I  said  to  myself,  c  I  can  rebuild  the 
whole  of  that  house  with  such  a  fine  quarry  at  my 
elbow.'  But  I  haven't  said  it  to  anybody  else  for 
fear  they  might  put  me  in  the  insane  asylum." 

"  Have  you  a  definite  plan  of  the  proposed 
house  ? " 

"  In  my  mind,  yes.  You  see,  I  can  put  a  stone 
bay  on  this  end,  the  whole  width,  to  please  my 
wife  —  I  ought  to  tell  you  she  comes  from  the 

«54 


ENTERTAINS  ANGELS  UNAWARES 

Bay  State.  Then  I  can  run  that  north  room  out 
into  a  dining-room,  and  fetch  the  roof  down  in  a 
long  sweep  over  the  porch,  and  put  a  stone  tower 
on  the  north  end.  Do  you  catch  the  idea  ?  " 

"  Exactly.     I'll  make  a  picture  of  it  for  you." 

"  Will  you  ?  That's  just  what  I  want.  If  you 
could  put  in  the  grounds  as  they  will  be  when  that 
cistern  is  working " 

"  Good  enough.     How  will  they  be  ?  " 

"  First,  a  good  solid  piece  of  rustic  stonework 
laid  up  in  front  for  the  fence  —  one  of  those  walls 
about  four  feet  high  with  the  sharp,  natural  stone 
sticking  out  of  them  at  regular  intervals,  with  two 
carriage  entrances  flanked  in  time  by  two  stone 
gate-posts  that  I  shall  take  my  time  to  build. 
Then  a  footpath  entrance  in  the  centre,  all  of 
them  laid  down  in  hard  gravel  and  running 
through  a  perfectly  level  and  bright  green  lawn, 
with  shrubs  and  heavily  massed  flowers  border 
ing  the  roads  and  the  path.  You  know  the  kind 
of  flowers  —  petunias,  sweet  peas,  poppies,  man 
golds,  with  flaming  bunches  of  canna  and  salvia. 
But  what  I  specially  count  on  are  the  shadows  of 
those  old  trees  on  the  lawns." 

"  Lovely,"  said  Sprague. 

"  The  road  will  circle  around  the  house  and  be 
gravelled,  probably  blue-stone,  if  it  doesn't  cost  too 
much,  and  the  ombra  or  porch  of  the  house  will 
come  down  into  a  suggestion  of  &  porte  cocbere." 

"  Lovely,"  said  Sprague.  "  What's  it  going  to 
cost  ? " 

"  Just  what  I  can  afford  to  pay  by  the  week  — 


MAKING   OF  A   COUNTRY  HOME 

and  that's  the  point  of  it.  Nobody  ever  heard  of 
a  man  doing  it  by  the  week.  If  I  die  in  the 
attempt,  I  shall  at  least  be  entitled  to  the  en 
comium  that  he  tried  to  be  original  and  luxurious 
on  twenty-four  hundred  a  year.  I  suppose  I'm 
destroying  what  little  faith  you  had  in  me.  It 
usually  acts  that  way  with  most  persons." 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  Sprague,  "  it's  quite  delicious. 
You'll  do  it.  Any  man  who  can  dig  a  hole  like 
that  in  spite  of  the  opinions  of  mankind,  can  do 
anything  that's  reasonable." 

"  You  can  understand,"  continued  John,  "  that 
there  wouldn't  be  any  fun  in  it  if  I  were  able  to  do 


it." 


"  No  ?  "  queried  Sprague. 

"  I  mean  that  if  I  were  able  to  command  it  all 
done  by  fiat,  it  wouldn't  be  inspiriting.  There  is 
a  kind  of  zest  in  walking  on  the  edge  of  a  beauti 
ful  precipice,  that  would  be  lost  if  one  had  wings. 
A  man  must  overcome  opposition,  face  incredulity, 
turn  the  other  cheek  also,  make  brains  take  the 
place  of  capital,  and  have  patience  enough  to  wait 
ten  years ;  then,  if  he  isn't  broken  down  by  con 
tumely  and  drudgery,  perhaps  his  children  will  get 
the  reward." 

"  How  lovely,"  said  Sprague. 

As  John  had  meant  this  to  be  slightly  querulous, 
he  looked  at  Sprague  and  said,  "  What's  lovely  ? " 

"  To  be  sure  of  your  reward  at  the  end  of  ten 
years,"  replied  Sprague. 

"  But  I'm  not  sure  of  it  —  that's  the  deuce  of 
it." 

156 


ENTERTAINS  ANGELS   UNAWARES 

"  Oh,  yes,  you  are ;  you  are  arriving  all  the 
time  and  bringing  the  reward  with  you." 

"  Do  you  think  so  ?  " 

"  Sure.  I  wish  I  had  as  big  a  hole  in  the  ground 
as  that  to  be  proud  of.  I've  seen  you  looking  at  it 
with  admiration  every  half  hour." 

John  laughed.  "  I  suppose  you  are  right,"  he 
said.  "  There  is  some  kind  of  delight  in  shaping 
dull  material  to  your  will,  but  it  is  so  slow  and 
stubborn." 

"  Nobody  knows  that  so  well  as  an  artist," 
replied  Sprague.  "  If  he  could  transfer  his  pic 
tures  from  his  mind  to  his  canvas  without  wres 
tling  with  the  earths,  he  would  never  paint  —  only 
dream.  Tell  me  all  about  the  hole." 

"  It's  only  a  cistern.  It  looks  like  an  inspira 
tion  or  a  bugaboo  because  it  is  so  big  —  that's  all. 
But  when  it  is  done  and  covered  up,  I  shall  feel 
like  a  man  who  has  hidden  his  treasure  in  the 
ground.  If  I  can  live  down  the  contumely  mean 
while,  I  shall  be  paid.  Do  you  know  what  they 
say  in  the  village  —  I  am  looking  for  Captain 
Kidd's  gold  up  here." 

"  Lovely,"  said  Sprague,  "  and  you'll  find  it. 
A  man  has  to  dig,  I  suppose,  for  everything, 
except " 

"  Yes,  except  fame." 

"  No,  I  didn't  mean  that.  I  was  going  to  say 
that  he  can  get  almost  everything  out  of  the  earth 
except " 

"Yes,  except  what?" 

"  Well,  except  too-ral-oo-ral-a." 

'57 


MAKING   OF   A   COUNTRY   HOME 

Then  the  two  men  looked  at  each  other,  and  as 
Lucy  and  May  Braddock  came  up,  they  found  them 
shaking  hands. 

After  this  conversation,  John  had  much  more  re 
spect  for  Sprague,  and  it  annoyed  him  to  see  that 
Lucy  did  not  share  his  feeling.  "  I  can  at  least 
tolerate  Holcomb  as  a  harmless  divertisement," 
Lucy  said,  "but  what  you  can  see  in  Sprague  to 
admire  is  beyond  me.'* 

"  My  dear,  he  is  the  only  person  I  have  met 
who  sympathizes  with  me  in  my  struggles." 

"  Well,"  said  Lucy,  "  he  gets  red  in  the  face 
while  he  is  doing  it  —  it  must  be  that  he  is  ashamed 
of  it.  Besides,  he  kicked  the  cat  when  he  thought 
I  did  not  see  him." 

"  What,"  exclaimed  John,  trying  to  suppress 
his  exultation,  "kicked  Medusa?" 

"  Yes.  I  did  not  intend  to  tell  you,  as  he  is 
your  guest.  But  now  it  is  out.  I  hope  it  will 
open  your  eyes." 

"  It  does,"  said  John. 

Sprague  came  into  the  workshop  one  morn 
ing.  It  was  Sunday,  and  the  guests  were  going 
away  on  the  morrow.  John  was  desecrating  the 
day  with  a  rip-saw. 

"  Sprague,"  he  said,  laying  down  the  saw,  "there 
are  some  little  things  that  serve  as  links  between 
human  souls.  They  are  trifles,  but  they  draw  men 
closer  together." 

"  Are  you  referring  to  the  cistern  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  John  ;  "  I  am  referring  to  the  cat. 
You  kicked  her." 

158 


ENTERTAINS  ANGELS  UNAWARES 

Sprague  blushed. 

"  It  was  one  of  those  little  acts,"  continued 
John,  "  that  make  the  world  of  masculinity  kin. 
I  have  tried  to  kick  her  for  a  month  myself,  but 
she  kept  herself  under  the  eye  of  the  women, 
and  I  miserably  failed.  You  detest  the  cat,"  and 
John  held  out  his  hand. 

"  I  saw  her  eat  six  young  bobolinks  down  in 
your  meadow,"  said  Sprague,  "  and  not  content 
with  that,  she  finished  off  with  the  mother  bird. 
But  perhaps  I  should  not  have  resented  her  act  if 
she  had  not  given  me  such  a  look  of  concentrated 
and  sublime  contempt."  t 

"Yes,"  said  John.  "  I  know  the  look  well.  It  is 
the  most  remarkable  case  of  animal  slang  on  record. 
She  was  brought  here  to  kill  moles.  She  has  killed 
nothing  but  birds,  and  the  moles  run  over  her 
while  she  sleeps.  But  the  women,  God  bless 
them,  condone  and  spoil  her  on  account  of  her 
fur.  I  tried  my  best  to  make  friends  with  her 
when  she  came,  but  she  treated  me  with  queenly 
disdain  from  the  start.  I  stroked  her  and  called 
her  Pretty  Puss,  at  which  she  rolled  up  her  yellow 
eyes  at  me  and  walked  away  contemptuously,  say 
ing  as  plain  as  a  newsboy  in  Frankfort  Street  could 
say  it, '  Oh,  you  go  shoot  yourself! '  and  opposed 
as  I  am  to  such  vulgar  language  in  my  own  house 
hold,  I  am  compelled  to  put  up  with  it  in  order  to 
keep  peace  in  the  family.  Mart  tells  me  that  since 
she  came  here  she  has  eaten  twenty-one  young 
robins,  six  song  sparrows,  twelve  bobolinks,  eight 
meadow  larks,  four  wrens,  and  three  thrushes,  and 

PS9 


MAKING   OF   A   COUNTRY   HOME 

my  respected  mother-in-law  says  that  the  cat  is  an 

invalid,  and  that  I  ought  to  get  some  kind  of 

repared  food    for  her  because  she  will  not  eat 

er  cream.     How  am  I  going  to  save  the  birds, 

Sprague,  without  breaking  up  my  family  ?  " 

The  two  men  looked  at  each  other  in  silent 
sympathy  a  moment.  Then  Sprague  whispered  : 
"  You  ought  to  try  a  bull  terrier.  I'll  send  you 
up  a  pup/' 

Neither  of  the  men  knew  what  he  was  about, 
or  he  would  have  paused.  They  shook  hands 
once  more,  and  buried  in  their  bosoms  the  secret 
that  was  eventually  to  imperil  the  household. 

The  guests  had  gone  away,  and  Lucy  had 
noticed  that  May  Braddock  came  to  the  station  to 
bid  Sprague  good-by,  and  that  they  had  some  con 
fidential  adieus  in  a  corner  of  the  waiting-room, 
which  led  her  to  remark  to  John,  "  I  shouldn't 
wonder  if  it  were  a  match  —  there's  no  accounting 
for  tastes." 

Then  passed  several  weeks,  during  which  time 
John  concentrated  all  his  energies  on  his  cistern. 
He  stuck  to  it  grimly.  The  stone  walls  rose 
slowly  and  the  brick  arch  finally  spanned  the  gulf. 
The  plumbers  came  and  worked  wonderingly  at  a 
system  of  pipes  that  seemed  superfluous.  There 
were  overflow  and  drainage  pipes,  supply  pipes, 
pipe  for  kitchen  pump,  and  pipe  that  was  intended 
for  an  unbuilt  tower  —  all  snugly  hidden  down 
there  and  costing  a  great  deal  more  than  John 
had  dared  to  contemplate.  But  it  was  finished 
at  last,  and  when  the  soil  was  raked  over  it,  and 

1 60 


ENTERTAINS  ANGELS   UNAWARES 

he  stood  on  the  square  slab  that  marked  the  man 
hole,  and  thought  of  the  engineering  provision 
that  he  had  made  under  his  feet,  he  could  not 
help  wondering  secretly  if  he  would  ever  get  the 
two  hundred  dollars  back  that  it  had  cost  him. 

With  what  boyish  interest  he  and  Mart  watched 
for  the  first  shower.  How  eagerly  they  rushed  out 
and  turned  off  the  jointed  leader,  so  that  the  first 
dash  of  rain  that  washed  the  roof  clean  would  not 
go  into  the  reservoir ;  and  then,  as  they  made  the 
connection  again,  and  listened  to  the  gush  of 
water  in  the  echoing  vault,  what  satisfaction  and 
pride  beamed  in  their  faces  as  they  stood  there  in 
the  downpour  and  watched  the  trembling  and 
gushing  leaders.  The  more  furiously  the  rain 
fell,  the  more  they  exulted.  "To  think,"  said 
John,  cc  that  the  clouds  have  been  dropping  fat 
ness  for  years,  and  nobody  thought  it  worth  while 
to  pick  it  up."  With  what  gusto  they  drew  the 
first  beakerful  from  the  kitchen  pump,  and  how 
they  smacked  their  lips  over  it,  and  insisted  that 
it  did  not  taste  of  cement,  and  how  utterly  use 
less  it  was  to  try  and  make  the  women  like 
it !  Mother  said  it  had  a  flavour  of  shingles. 
Lucy  detected  a  smoky  taste.  Her  enthusiasm 
went  no  further  than  to  acknowledge  that  it 
would  be  a  great  convenience  on  wash-days.  So 
John  had  to  work  off  his  enthusiasm  in  a  letter 
to  Sprague,  and  was  much  comforted  by  a  prompt 
reply  that  it  was  "  lovely,"  to  which  a  postscript 
was  added  to  the  following  effect :  "  I  send  you, 
per  Wells-Fargo,  a  thoroughbred  bull-terrier  pup, 

161 


MAKING   OF   A   COUNTRY   HOME 

out  of  Belcher's  c  Virago/  by  Pettibones's  '  Pitts 
burgh  Crib/  You  will  have  to  rig  a  bottle  and 
rubber  teat  for  him." 

Then  there  was  a  season  of  relapse,  when  John 
and  Lucy  spent  their  evenings  under  the  cedars 
quietly,  listening  to  mother  as  she  made  a  sched 
ule  of  what  she  had  preserved  that  day.  Wesley, 
John  said,  was  taking  his  vacation ;  he  had  not 
seen  him  for  a  week.  "  I  think,"  he  remarked, 
"  that  he  is  going  to  leave  our  firm  ;  going  into 
some  new  speculation.  Your  husband  is  safe 
from  that  sort  of  thing  now,  my  dear." 

But  scarcely  had  they  felicited  themselves  on 
their  happy  immunity,  when,  presto,  Wesley  and 
his  wife  drove  up  to  their  gate. 


162 


CHAPTER   VIII 

IN    WHICH    THE    TEMPTER    ENTERS 

LUCY  greeted  her  old  friend,  Kate  Ellis, 
with  genuine  heartiness,  mingled  with 
much  trepidation,  and  John  welcomed 
Wesley  with  a  great  show  of  cordiality.  But  the 
visitors  were  uninterested  in  the  explanations  that 
ensued.  Kate  was  fashionably  attired,  and  Wes 
ley  was  fitted  out  in  the  latest  watering-place  suit. 
Indeed,  their  mere  appearance  was  sufficient  to  put 
some  kind  of  new  responsibility  upon  their  hosts 
to  keep  up  with  it. 

"  Now,  you  must  put  up  with  everything 
as  you  find  it,  dear,"  began  Lucy.  "  Every 
thing  is  torn  to  pieces,  but  I'm  so  glad  you 
came.  You  know  we  are  just  plain  country  folk 
now." 

"  Gracious,"  said  Kate,  "  how  do  you  stand 
it?" 

"  Oh,  I  always  loved  the  country,  you  know. 


MAKING   OF   A   COUNTRY   HOME 

Just  come  round  and  see  the  view  from  the  rear 
of  the  house.  All  our  treasures  are  out  of  doors. 
Whatever  brought  you  up  so  unexpectedly  ?  " 

"  Wes  wanted  to  see  John  on  a  matter  of  busi 
ness —  it's  really  important  —  the  greatest  piece 
of  luck.  Can't  we  go  in  and  sit  down  ?  " 

"  I  want  you  to  see  the  view  first,"  replied 
Lucy.  "Isn't  it  beautiful?" 

"  Yes/'  said  Kate,  without  looking  at  it. 
"  Lovely.  You  see  Wes  has  got  hold  of  a  splen 
did  business  chance,  and  he  wants  John  to  join 
him.  There's  a  fortune  in  it." 

"You  don't  mean  it!"  exclaimed  Lucy.  "That's 
the  Mahwah  River  down  there.  I'll  take  you 
down  and  show  you  the  meadow  when  you  get 
your  things  off." 

"Charming,"  said  Kate.  "I  don't  think 
we'll  have  time  to  enjoy  it.  Don't  you  find  it 
lonesome  ? " 

"  You  know  I  always  wanted  a  home  of  my 
own.  We  are  going  to  enlarge  the  house. 
Wouldn't  you  like  to  see  the  garden  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  you  keep  cows  and  pigs  and  things. 
Heavens,  Lucy  Dennison,  I  always  thought  you 
were  meant  to  shine  in  the  best  circles,  and  not 
become  a  dairymaid  —  and  you  would,  too,  if 
John  were  not  so  narrow." 

"  Narrow  !  Oh,  come  now  —  everybody  who 
knows  John  says  he  is  a  yard  wide." 

"  I  know,"  said  Kate,  "  and  all  wool.  But  you 
are  silk,  my  dear,  and  made  for  society.  What 
are  you  going  to  do  when  you  get  tired  of  this  ? 

164 


THE   TEMPTER   ENTERS 

Why,  you  will  be  utterly  ruined  for  society. 
Haven't  you  thought  of  that  ? " 

"  I'm  afraid  I  have  not,"  said  Lucy,  laugh 
ingly.  "John  will  not  let  me  get  tired  of  it." 

"  You  put  me  out  of  all  patience  —  whatever 
has  come  over  you.  I  believe  your  husband  has 
hypnotized  you.  I  wish  you  would  give  me  a 
glass  of  ice-water.  Can't  we  go  in  ?  I  don't 
want  to  be  ruined  by  freckles." 

"  I  will  give  you  a  nice  glass  of  cool  well 
water,"  replied  Lucy.  "  How  would  you  like  a 
glass  of  fresh  milk  ?  " 

"  Milk  will  do.  I  don't  suppose  you  have  any 
Vichy,  have  you  ?  How  absurd  I  am  !  " 

When  they  were  inside  and  the  milk  had  been 
placed  before  her,  Kate  lifted  her  veil,  took  an 
occasional  sip,  and  continued :  — 

"  Now  I  do  hope  that  you  will  not  be  silly. 
Wes  has  got  hold  of  the  biggest  kind  of  a  chance, 
and  he  wants  John  to  go  in  with  him." 

"  Speculation  ?  "  cried  Lucy.  "  He'll  never 
get  John  into  it." 

"  Speculation  —  nonsense.  It's  a  capitalized 
company  with  millions  behind  it.  Syndicate,  my 
dear.  Everything  is  syndicates  nowadays.  They 
have  offered  Wes  five  thousand  a  year  and 
a  percentage." 

"  Good  gracious  !  "  said  Lucy.  "  You  don't 
like  the  milk,  do  you  ? " 

"To  tell  you  the  truth,  dear,  I'm  not  used  to 
drinking  it  clear.  It's  awfully  foolish,  but  do 
you  know,  clear  milk  is  so  cowy.  But  as  I  was 

165 


MAKING   OF   A   COUNTRY   HOME 

saying,  Wes  and  I  have  about  made  up  our  minds 
to  launch  out.  We've  scratched  along  until  we're 
tired  of  it.  What's  the  use,  one  might  as  well  get 
some  comfort  out  of  life  while  it  lasts.  Wes  has 
got  a  whole  line  of  customers  in  the  West  at  his 
call,  and  the  new  company  knows  it  —  so  has 
John.  Anyway,  we're  going  in  for  ourselves  this 
time.  I've  about  made  up  my  mind  that  I  can't 
get  along  decently  on  a  beggarly  two  thousand  a 
year.  No  more  can  you,  dear." 

"  But  it's  so  sure,"  said  Lucy. 

"Yes,  slow  and  sure,  and  that's  just  what  I'm 
tired  of.  A  woman  likes  something  a  little  faster, 
even  if  it  isn't  so  dead  open  and  shut.  Wes  and 
I  are  going  to  take  care  of  Number  One,  and 
that's  what  you  must  do.  Let  me  tell  you  —  I've 
been  looking  at  a  house  in  Forty-second  Street  — 
four  story  and  basement,  stone  front,  high  stoop, 
only  three  thousand  a  year — sixteen  rooms,  saloon 
parlour,  steam  heated,  back  stairs  for  servants,  con 
servatory  addition.  Can't  you  go  back  with  me  ? 
I  want  you  to  look  at  it.  It's  near  all  the  theatres, 
the  opera  house,  and  the  hotels.  Put  on  your 
things  and  come  on  down  with  me.  I'll  tell  you 
all  about  it." 

"Why,  you're  not  going  straight  back,  I 
hope." 

"  Yes,  we  must.  Wes  has  got  his  hands  full. 
He  only  came  up  to  get  John  into  it,  and  I  came 
with  him  to  take  you  back.  Don't  be  foolish.  I 
want  you  to  see  that  dining-room.  I  can  seat 
thirty  people  in  it."- 

166 


THE   TEMPTER   ENTERS 

"  How  nice,"  said  Lucy.  "  But  three  thousand 
a  year,  Kate  —  my  !  " 

"  If  John  knows  when  he  is  well  off  and  we  took 
it  together,  the  rent  wouldn't  be  so  much,  and  as 
for  the  furnishing,  Wes  has  made  all  the  arrange 
ments.  You  know  it  isn't  customary  to  pay  cash 
now  for  furnishing  —  the  syndicates  do  it  for  you." 

Lucy  tried  to  be  purringly  evasive.  "What 
a  handsome  dress  that  is,"  she  said. 

"  Don't  you  like  the  sleeve  ?  It's  bolero.  I 
thought  it  would  catch  you." 

"  Yes,  there's  nothing  so  pretty  as  a  bell  sleeve 
with  an  edging  of  lace  below  the  elbow,  is  there  — 
and  puffs  at  the  wrist  ?  " 

"  I'll  show  you  my  bolero  figured  dining-robe 
when  you  come  down.  This  cost  me  eighty-five 
dollars.  Heavens,  Lucy,  you  see  Wes  must 
branch  out  somewhere  if  we  are  to  keep  up  with 
the  times.  How  do  the  trains  run  on  that  hor 
rid  railroad  of  yours  ?  " 

Meanwhile  John  was  fondly  pointing  out  to 
Wesley  the  matchless  opportunities  which  the 
place  afforded  for  improvements.  "  I've  got  a 
cistern  there  forty  feet  long,"  said  John,  pointing 
to  the  long  surface  of  raw  earth  that  was  spread 
over  his  subterranean  achievement. 

Wes  looked  at  it  wonderingly.  "  What's  it 
for  P  "  he  asked. 

"  Water,"  said  John  triumphantly.  "  Planned 
and  built  it  myself." 

"  Can't  we  go  in  where  it  is  cool  and  sit  down  ? 
I  want  to  talk  to  you." 


MAKING   OF   A   COUNTRY   HOME 

"  Let  me  show  you  the  place  first." 

"  Fine  place,"  said  Wes.  "  Let's  go  under 
those  trees." 

When  they  were  seated  under  the  cedars,  Wes 
began  at  once.  "  I've  got  the  biggest  kind  of  a 
thing  in  tow,  old  fellow,"  he  said,  "and  I  want 
you  in  with  me." 

"  Is  it  the  new  company  that  I  heard  of —  some 
kind  of  a  cooperative  scheme  ? " 

"  I  don't  know  what  you've  heard,  but  I'm  on 
the  inside.  Capital,  three  millions.  They  pro 
pose  to  do  business  farther  up  town,  and  combine 
the  wholesale  and  retail  departments.  They  have 
offered  me  five  thousand  a  year  and  five  per  cent 
commission  on  out-of-town  customers." 

"Then  you're  going  to  leave  our  house,?  " 

"Well,  I'm  going  to  look  out  for  myself. 
Cramp  is  in  the  company,  and  what  he  says,  goes. 
He  asked  me  if  I  thought  you  would  join  them 
if  you  got  a  good  offer.  That's  what  I'm  here 
for." 

John  shook  his  head.  "  I  don't  think  I'm  in 
a  position  now  to  take  any  new  chances,"  he  said. 
"  Besides,  our  firm  has  always  treated  me  so  hand 
somely." 

"  Oh,  don't  give  me  that.  You've  got  all  those 
Minnesota  buyers  at  your  back,  and  now  is  the 
time  to  turn  your  advantage  to  some  account. 
It  will  be  worth  five  or  six  thousand  a  year  to 
you,  and  I  thought  that  if  you  and  I  took  a 
house  together,  we  could  bag  a  lot  of  those 
Western  fellows  socially  without  trotting  round 

1 68 


THE  TEMPTER   ENTERS 

to  the  hotels.  Besides,  the  women  will  have  a 
chance  to  see  life  as  it  is.  Kate  was  looking  at  a 
house  in  Forty-second  Street  yesterday.  I  spoke 
to  Cramp  about  it  and  he  said  it  was  a  good  game. 
You'll  be  tired  of  this  thing  up  here  before  win 
ter.  I'll  bet  a  supper  Lucy  is  tired  of  it  now." 

"  Oh,  you're  dead  wrong  on  that  point/'  said 
John.  "  Let's  take  a  walk  over  the  grounds.  I 
want  to  show  you  the  garden." 

"I'll  tell  you  how  it  is,  old  man,"  Wesley  said 
without  heeding  the  invitation.  "You  and  I 
must  snatch  our  chance  when  it  comes  our  way, 
and  there's  a  pot  of  money  to  be  blown  in  on  this 
scheme,  and  we  might  as  well  have  some  of  it." 

"Does  Kate  approve  of  it  ? " 

"  Approve  of  it  ?  Why,  she's  red  hot  for  it. 
Kate  wasn't  built  on  the  twenty-four  hundred  a 
year  gauge.  You  leave  Lucy  to  her,  she'll  talk 
her  round.  If  you'll  come  down  with  me  to 
night  and  stay  over,  I'll  introduce  you  to  Cramp 
to-morrow.  We  can  have  a  little  dinner  at  the 
Holland  House  —  you'll  like  Cramp  —  and  then 
we  can  go  to  the  Casino." 

"  It's  no  use,  Wes,"  said  John ;  "  I'm  all  tied 
up  here,  and  I  can't  think  of  it." 

"  Cramp  will  talk  you  out  of  that  strain  in  fif 
teen  minutes.  Good  Lord,  man,  you  ought  to 
think  of  your  wife  and  boy." 

"  I'll  talk  to  Lucy  about  it.  There's  plenty  of 
time.  You  are  going  to  stay  to  dinner,  of  course." 

"  Dinner  ?  No.  We've  got  to  jump  back. 
Kate  and  I  are  going  to  a  reception  of  the  Buyers' 

169 


MAKING   OF   A   COUNTRY   HOME 

Club,  and  we  want  you  to  come  with  us.  Come 
on,  old  chap. .  You  will  meet  all  the  new  men 
and  we'll  get  you  back  into  the  swim." 

John  only  shook  his  head,  and  vainly  tried  to 
press  his  hospitality  upon  his  friend.  But  the 
humble  natural  advantages  of  his  home  somehow 
appeared  to  dwindle  in  the  presence  of  this  com 
pany,  and  when  they  went  hurriedly  away,  John 
took  a  long  breath  of  relief,  as  if  a  distressing 
weight  had  been  removed,  and  he  and  his  wife 
looked  at  each  other  in  silence  a  moment.  Then 
John  said :  — 

"  What  did  you  say  to  Kate  ?  " 

"Why,  what  could  I  say,  except  that  I  sup 
posed  she  would  have  a  gay  time  of  it." 

"  So  she  will,  my  dear,  while  it  lasts." 

"  And  you  don't  think  it  will  last  ? " 

"  No  ;  nothing  ever  lasts  very  long  with  Kate." 

"  I  suppose,"  said  Lucy,  "  that  Wes  would  tell 
you  that  when  nothing  is  risked  nothing  is  gained." 

"  But  that  cheap  remark  wouldn't  influence  you 
any  more  than  it  does  me." 

"  Well,"  said  Lucy,  "  Kate  will  have  a  lot  of 
fun,  I  dare  say.  I  should  just  like  to  see  for 
once  how  it  felt  to  spend  money  instead  of  sav 
ing  it." 

"  Some  other  person's  money  ?  "  queried  John. 

"  You  told  Wes  that  you  wouldn't  entertain 
the  idea?" 

"  I  gave  him  to  understand  that  you  wouldn't 
consent  to  it,  and  that  I  always  consulted  you." 

"  My,"  said  Lucy,  thinking  of  the  four-story 

170 


THE   TEMPTER   ENTERS 

house    and    the    saloon    parlour.     "  How  disap 
pointed  Kate  will  be." 

"  But  you  are  not  disappointed,  are  you  ?  " 
"  No,"    she    replied    hesitatingly.      "  I    wasn't 
made  to  shine  in  the  same  circle  with  Kate.      Did 
you  notice  her  dress  ?     She  said  it  cost  her  eighty- 
five  dollars." 

"  Then  I'll  wager  it  isn't  paid  for." 
"  It  must  be  fun  to  have  everything  you  want 
without  worrying  about  paying  for  it.  Maybe 
Wes  will  make  a  fortune  and  not  kill  himself  with 
hard  work.  Isn't  that  the  way  fortunes  are  made 
nowadays,  dear  ?  Think  of  five  thousand  a  year, 
John." 

"  It  sounded  to  me  like  five  thousand  birds  in 
the  bush." 

"You  always  were  so  timid,  dear." 
"  Have  you  come  to  that  conclusion  ? " 
"I  ?     Oh,  no.     That  is  what  Kate  said." 
"  Oh,  she  said  that,  did  she  ?      Confound  her 
impudence.     I  believe  she  upset  your  mind  with 
that  eighty-five-dollar  dress." 

"  Well,  you  must  acknowledge,  dear,  that  it 
was  perfectly  stunning.  I  tried  my  best  to  influ 
ence  her  mind  with  my  one  bird  in  hand,  but  it 
didn't  work  at  all." 

"  Oh,  a  woman  doesn't  understand  a  bird  in 
hand,"  said  John,  testily.  "All  she  cares  for  is 
a  bird  in  her  hat.  I  don't  see  why  they  don't 
wear  cats  on  their  bonnets  —  it  would  be  more 
appropriate." 

"  How  mean  you  can  be,  John,"   said  Lucy. 
171 


MAKING   OF   A   COUNTRY   HOME 

"  What's  the  cat  got  to  do  with  it  ?     You  are 
almost  as  bad  as  your  cat-lawyer." 

"  Oh,  of  course.  A  man  who  has  a  steady 
purpose  and  sticks  to  it  must  be  insane.  In  my 
opinion,  Kate  is  a  cat,  and  you  are  bewildered  by 
her  fur." 

"You  forget  that  she  is  an  old  friend  of  mine." 

"  No,  I  don't.  I  wish  I  could.  If  she'd  stay 
away  I  might." 

"  Stay  away  ?  Do  you  want  to  cut  off  the  only 
friend  I've  got?  Perhaps  you  don't  wish  me  to 
visit  Kate." 

"  Oh,  you  want  to  visit  her  now,  don't  you  ?  " 

"  Good  heavens,  John,  do  you  object  to  that?  " 

"  She  asked  you  to  come  down  and  look  at 
the  house." 

"  Was  it  a  crime  ?  " 

"And  you  want  to  go  ? " 

"  If  I  did,  I  suppose  you  would  put  your  foot 
down.  Don't  go  too  far,  John,  a  woman  is  dif 
ferent  from  a  cistern." 

This  allusion  to  his  pet  hole  in  the  ground 
stung  him  a  little,  and  he  gave  way  to  a  retort. 
"  It's  a  pity,"  he  said,  "  that  she  is.  She  might 
be  made  to  store  up  something  if  she  wasn't." 

Then  it  was  Lucy's  turn.  "You'll  find,"  she 
said  with  a  sob,  "  that  a  woman  can't  be  made 
part  of  your  irrigation  plant,"  and  then  with  a 
woman's  contradictory  nature,  she  began  to  cry. 

"When  you  are  in  a  better  humour,"  said  John, 
as  he  walked  away,  "  perhaps  you  will  take  an 
other  view  of  it." 

172 


THE   TEMPTER   ENTERS 

In  the  well-regulated  affairs  of  ordinary  mar 
ried  mortals  such  occurrences  as  these  are  called 
spats.  They  correspond  to  what  in  lovers'  af 
fairs  are  called  tiffs,  only  they  resemble  the  for 
mer  as  the  rain  resembles  the  mist.  They  are 
of  no  more  apparent  use  to  the  domestic  system 
than  the  vermiform  appendix  appears  to  be  to  the 
corporeal  system,  but  they  are  as  prevalent  and  as 
annoying.  Perhaps  in  a  larger  view  of  humanity 
they  may  be  seen  to  play  the  part  of  March 
winds  and  stir  up  the  lethargic  impulses  of  life. 
Who  knows  ? 

John  strode  off  with  a  fine  evanescent  indigna 
tion,  and  his  wife  went  in  to  her  mother,  wiping 
her  eyes. 

As  he  passed  the  back  porch  on  his  way  to  his 
workshop,  he  saw  Medusa  lying  in  all  her  pleni 
tude  of  equable  superiority,  in  the  twilight.  As 
he  approached  she  gave  him  a  calm  look  of  Ori 
ental  contempt  and  went  into  the  house,  saying 
with  all  the  silent  eloquence  of  feline  felicity, 
"  Keep  your  distance,  miserable  man ;  you  ought 
to  see  that  we  belong  to  different  orders  of  life." 

Such  a  trivial  occurrence  could  not  in  itself 
have  stirred  up  inhuman  reflections  in  John's 
mind,  but  it  probably  came  at  a  time  when  the 
mind  was  predisposed  to  relieve  itself  by  some 
kind  of  irrational  action,  and  he  instinctively 
picked  up  a  brick  to  heave  at  the  animal.  He 
was  just  about  to  throw  it,  when  his  mother-in- 
law  appeared  at  the  door,  picked  up  Medusa 
with  affectionate  tenderness,  and  disappeared. 

173 


MAKING   OF   A   COUNTRY   HOME 

The  consciousness  that  in  another  second  the 
brick  would  have  landed  squarely  upon  the  be 
nign  person  of  that  old  lady,  producing  a  wreck 
that  was  inconceivably  terrible,  only  added  to 
John's  baffled  irritation.  He  threw  down  the 
missile  and  stalked  moodily  to  the  workshop. 
There  he  found  Mart  down  on  his  knees  nursing 
the  bull-terrier  pup  that  Sprague  had  sent  him. 
Mart's  hands  were  dabbled  with  blood,  and  with 
one  of  them  he  held  a  small  bottle  of  vaseline. 

"  What  are  you  up  to  ? "  asked  John,  a  little 
severely,  as  if  Mart  offered  a  good  target  for  his 
unexpressed  discomfiture. 

"Just  patching  up  the  pup's  nose/'  said  Mart. 
"The  little  chap  followed  me  up  to  the  house, 
and  the  cat  tore  a  piece  out  of  his  smeller." 

"Oh,  she  did.  I  suppose  we'll  have  to  kill 
the  pup  to  accommodate  that  d — d  cat." 

Mart  smiled.  "  No,  sir,"  he  said,  "  if  we  take 
good  care  of  him,  I  think  it  will  be  the  other  way. 
Cats  is  a  good  deal  like  women,  sir,  they  can't 
measure  up  what  they  can't  see.  He'll  bite 
her  in  two  some  day.  Look  at  the  jaw  of  him. 
That's  a  good  dog,  sir.  It  would  have  paid  the 
cat  to  have  made  friends  with  him.  But  he's  a 
baby,  sir,  and  he  don't  know  what  kind  of  world 
he's  got  into  yet." 

This  conversation  put  John  into  a  better  humour, 
and  later  in  the  evening,  when  he  and  Lucy  came 
together  again,  they  began  to  set  their  stunsails 
and  shake  out  their  top  hamper,  as  a  sailor  would 
say,  as  if  there  was  a  dead  calm  in  view. 

174 


THE   TEMPTER   ENTERS 

"  What  hurt  me,  John/'  said  Lucy,  "  was  your 
unfeeling  insinuation  that  I  had  lost  all  interest  in 
our  home,  just  because  I  wanted  to  go  down  and 
see  how  Kate's  foolish  experiment  works.  You 
know  she's  an  old  friend,  and  I  couldn't  help 
taking  some  interest  in  her  welfare." 

"  And  it  was  so  unlike  you,  Lucy,"  said  John, 
"  to  think  that  I  would  object  to  your  going  down. 
And  then  you  spoke  disrespectfully  of  the  cis 


tern." 


"  Well,  John  dear,  I  never  would,  I  am  sure, 
if  you  hadn't  lugged  the  cat  into  it.  If  Kate 
should  have  a  house  in  the  city  next  winter,  it 
would  be  very  convenient  for  us  if  we  wanted  to 
run  down  and  stay  over,  and  we  might  want  to 
when  the  cold  weather  sets  in.  I  just  thought 
I'd  like  to  see  what  the  women  are  going  to  wear 
this  fall." 

"  And  you  were  mean  enough  to  think  I'd 
object  to  it  —  that's  what  hurt  me,"  said  John. 

"  Oh,  I  never  did,"  said  Lucy.  "  You  misun 
derstood  me.  You  always  do  fly  off  in  that 
manner.  I  should  think  you  knew  me  well 
enough  to  trust  me  out  of  your  sight." 

"  Of  course  I  do,"  said  John.  "  I  would  trust 
you  anywhere.  But  my  great  comfort  is  that 
nobody  else  will." 

"  Why,  what  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  I  refer  to  the  confounded  tradesmen.  The 
trouble  with  Kate  is  that  all  the  tradesmen  do 
trust  her." 

At  this  point  he  suppressed  the  conversation 


MAKING   OF   A   COUNTRY   HOME 

with  gentle  violence,  and  utterly  prevented  his 
wife's  mouth,  which  had  budded  to  a  retort,  from 
bursting  into  a  reply. 

A  few  days  later,  and  Lucy  accompanied  him 
to  the  city.  He  came  back  without  her.  He 
noticed  how  absurdly  lonesome  the  place  looked, 
and  he  wondered  if  this  was  what  the  news 
papers  called  "a  new  departure/'  Some  misgiv 
ings  he  had  that  were  not  easily  overcome,  though 
he  struggled  very  hard  to  dispel  them.  "  I'll 
make  hay  while  the  sun  shines,"  he  remarked  to 
himself  encouragingly.  "  Appearances  go  a  great 
ways  with  women.  I  must  on  with  my  work 
and  get  this  place  into  inviting  shape."  He 
thought  of  how  poor  a  show  his  old  stone  house 
made  to  his  city  visitors ;  how  disdainfully  Kate 
had  swept  her  eye  over  the  solid  and  squat  struc 
ture,  and  how  carefully  Wes  had  avoided  all 
reference  to  it.  But  this  only  piqued  his  pride 
a  little,  and  if  some  one  had  offered  him  ten 
thousand  a  year  at  that  moment,  to  abandon  his 
scheme,  he  would  have  rejected  it  with  scorn. 
"  No,  sir,"  he  said,  "  I'll  show  them  all  that  I've 
got  the  right  idea.  Hold  fast  is  the  better  dog 
—  by  thunder,  I'll  go  down  to  the  shed  and  look 
at  my  pup's  jaw." 

It  was  at  this  stage  in  John's  domestic  career 
that  the  project  of  making  a  country  home  en 
tered  upon  its  determinative  course.  It  had  not 
been  plain  sailing  altogether,  and  he  felt  that  he 
had  not  received  the  sympathy  to  which  he  was 
entitled.  Now  that  he  was  alone  with  his  work, 

176 


THE   TEMPTER   ENTERS 

the  results  looked  meagre  enough  by  the  side 
of  the  stupendous  thoughts  and  toil  they  had 
exacted.  He  had  spent  months  of  prodigious 
labour  and  nothing  was  visible  to  the  eye.  His 
greatest  feat  of  all  was  buried  in  the  ground,  as 
if  he  had  been  making  a  grave.  Might  it  not 
be  that  he  was  making  a  mistake,  committing 
indeed  the  folly  that  so  many  men  commit  when 
they  retire  with  a  chimera  to  the  country  ?  Then, 
if  he  was  wrong,  Wes  would  be  right,  and  might 
not  the  fellows  like  Wes,  who  made  up  their 
minds  to  get  all  there  is  out  of  life  while  it  passes, 
be  really  the  fortunate  if  not  the  successful  fel 
lows  ?  He  looked  at  his  unfinished  stone  fence 
along  the  front  of  the  property.  It  had  a  pre 
tentious  irony  at  times  as  if  it  were  overstrained. 
He  knew  very  well  that  the  passers-by,  who  saw 
the  property  in  its  discouraging  aspects,  made 
supercilious  remarks,  and  said,  "  What  do  you 
suppose  that  fellow  is  trying  to  do  with  that  old 
place  ? "  He  had  seen  the  ironical  smiles  and 
their  good-natured  incredulity.  Nobody  believed 
in  him.  Even  Mr.  Swarthout  was  complacently 
waiting  to  take  the  property  back  when  the  wild 
experiment  had  exhausted  itself. 

These  are  the  discouragements  that  no  ordi 
nary  man  escapes  who  has  set  himself  a  task  to 
perform.  But  it  is  worth  recording  that  the 
ordinary  man,  capable  of  setting  himself  a  worthy 
task  that  involves  his  purely  masculine  qualities, 
is  usually  supplied  with  a  dogged  determination 
that  has  to  be  reckoned  with.  The  ordinary 

177 


MAKING   OF   A   COUNTRY   HOME 

man  does  not  like  to  be  beaten  even  by  events. 
John  did  not  use  that  word,  he  had  an  idiom  of 
his  own.  He  looked  at  the  stubborn  chaos  about 
him,  thought  of  the  incredulity  of  his  friends,  and 
said,  "  Well,  I've  gone  into  the  fight,  and  I'm 
not  going  to  be  licked." 

Sometimes  the  phraseology  of  the  ordinary 
man  means  so  much  that  it  is  not  wise  to  trans 
late  it  into  a  politer  currency.  This  feeling  of 
aggressive  grip  approaches  to  heroism,  especially 
when  there  are  limited  resources  of  friends  and 
money,  but  it  is  a  heroism  very  much  like  the 
poet's  or  the  soldier's,  apt  to  be  posthumous 
in  its  celebration. 

John  went  to  Mr.  Braddock.  Why  he  went 
there  it  would  be  impossible  to  say.  He  did  not 
know  himself.  He  caught  that  lawyer  walking 
up  and  down  in  his  office  with  a  red  carnation  in 
one  hand  and  a  white  carnation  in  the  other,  sniff 
ing  at  them  alternately  with  meditative  beaminess. 

"  I  thought,  perhaps,"  said  John,  "  you  could 
tell  me  of  a  good  reliable  builder,  a  carpenter  who 
is  out  of  a  job.  I  want  to  consult  him  about 
altering  my  house.  The  fact  is,  I  want  associate 
counsel  of  a  practical  kind." 

Mr.  Braddock  broke  out  with  a  placid  reful 
gence  as  he  sniffed  at  the  white  carnation.  "  Do 
you  think,"  he  asked,  "  that  the  colour  of  a  flower 
is  in  any  way  determinative  of  its  odour  ?  I  fancy 
that  this  white  pink,  which  does  not  catch  the 
eye  like  the  red  pink,  has  a  subtler  fragrance. 
What  do  you  think  ?  " 

178 


THE   TEMPTER   ENTERS 

"  I'm  in  a  good  deal  of  a  quandary  with  respect 
to  my  improvements/'  continued  John,  "and  I 
wish  to  consult  with  a  thoroughgoing  mechanic. 
You  might  know  of  a  man  who  is  disengaged,  and 
reasonable,  somebody  of  experience  who  wants 
work." 

Mr.  Braddock  walked  to  the  door  of  his 
office.  "Benton,"  he  said,  "what's  Ridabok 
doing  ? " 

"  Nothing,  I  guess,"  answered  the  voice  of 
Benton. 

"  The  odour  of  flowers,"  resumed  Mr.  Brad- 
dock,  "  is  an  interesting  study,  entirely  on  the 
side  of  temperament.  How's  Medusa  ?  " 

"  Is  Mr.  Ridabok  a  carpenter  ?  "  asked  John. 

"  Mr.  Ridabok,"  replied  Mr.  Braddock,  with 
an  inscrutable  smile,  "  is  a  white  carnation. 
You're  not  looking  for  colour,  are  you  ?  He 
doesn't  catch  the  eye,  but  he  has  more  tempera 
ment  than  most  of  them  ;  puts  you  in  mind  of  a 
bunch  of  sweet-william  growing  in  the  corner 
of  an  old  garden.  It  always  looks  as  if  the  gar 
den  was  trying  to  get  away  from  it." 

"  Is  he  a  good  workman  ?  That's  what  I 
want  to  know." 

"  Yes,  that's  his  misfortune." 

"  Why  misfortune  ?  " 

"  Because  I  don't  think  we  care  for  good  work 
men  nowadays.  You  see  he's  built  half  the  old 
houses  in  this  place,  and  it  costs  more  to  pull 
them  down  than  it's  worth.  These  old  fellows, 
Mr.  Dennison,  never  made  any  provision  for 

179 


MAKING   OF   A   COUNTRY   HOME 

pulling  down.  They  built  houses  as  if  they 
expected  a  man's  children  to  live  in  them,  and 
when  the  children  came  to  tear  them  to  pieces  it 
didn't  pay.  You'll  find  that  old  house  of  yours 
underpinned  with  locust  and  laid  down  on  sills 
of  oak  hewn  out  with  a  broadaxe  and  double 
morticed.  The  old  fools  had  no  conception  of  a 
millennium." 

"  I  don't  propose  to  tear  down  the  old  house. 
I  want  to  improve  it  a  little  in  my  own  way,  and 
I  want  a  man  who  will  do  just  what  I  tell  him 
and  work  by  the  week.  I'll  furnish  the  ideas  and 
the  money.  He  is  to  furnish  the  labor  and  the 
skill.  You  see,  I  wish  to  avoid  a  contractor  and 
an  architect.  I  want  to  take  my  own  time,  stop 
when  I  please,  and  do  as  I  like  generally.  If  I 
can  get  hold  of  a  good  man  who  wants  to  work 
and  is  content  to  work  my  way,  I  might  give  him 
a  job  for  half  a  year.  Is  Mr.  Ridabok  the  sort 
or  chap  I  am  looking  for  ? " 

"  Mr.  Ridabok  is  very  unfortunate.  In  the 
first  place,  he  insists  on  getting  old,  and  that  is 
unpardonable.  What  can  you  do  with  a  man 
who  gets  to  be  fifty-five  without  knowing  it,  and 
will  have  the  rheumatism  occasionally  without 
paying  any  attention  to  it  ?  No  adaptability ; 
insists  on  morticing  his  studding  instead  of  nail 
ing  it ;  don't  believe  in  patent  siding  or  Mansard 
roofs." 

"  I  should  say,"  remarked  John,  "  that  he 
might  have  some  reliable,  old-fashioned  notions." 

"Just  so,"  said  Mr.  Braddock.  "A  regular 
1 80 


THE   TEMPTER   ENTERS 

orthodox  old  hard-shell  builder.  Those  old  fel 
lows  seemed  to  build  as  if  they  had  eternity  in 
view.  You  take  their  work  to  pieces,  and  you're 
sure  to  come  across  some  old  lumber  that  will 
not  give  an  inch.  It's  like  one  of  those  old 
home-made  copy-books  that  our  mothers  used  to 
stitch  together  for  us,  with  c  Honesty  is  the  Best 
Policy  '  written  large  at  the  top.  You  don't  want 
to  bother  with  that  kind  of  a  man,  do  you  P  You 
are  young  and  from  the  city." 

"  Yes,"  said  John,  "  I  rather  like  the  descrip 
tion." 

Mr.  Braddock  sniffed  for  a  moment. 

"  Suppose  you  stop  here  to-night  and  pick  him 
up,  I'll  have  him  wait  for  you." 

At  that  moment  May  Braddock  came  into  the 
office,  and  to  John's  surprise  was  accompanied  by 
Mr.  Sprague. 

"  Halloo,  Dennison,  going  to  the  city  ?  I'll 
go  with  you,"  said  Sprague.  "  How's  the  pup  ?  " 

"  There's  our  train  coming  now,"  said  John. 
"  Come  along." 

"Have  you  got  that  list  of  commissions?" 
asked  Mr.  Braddock.  "  Don't  forget  that  new 
cat  food." 

"  I  will  attend  to  them  all,"  said  Sprague,  blush- 
ingly,  as  he  followed  John  out  the  door,  "if  I 
don't  get  the  par-^-sis  in  the  city." 

"  One  moment,  Mr.  Sprague,"  called  May 
Braddock,  and  as  Sprague  and  John  stopped,  she 
said :  "  /W-e-sis,  if  you  please,  Mr.  Sprague." 

When  they  were  on  the  train  John  expressed 
181 


MAKING   OF   A   COUNTRY   HOME 

some  surprise  at  seeing  Sprague  up  there.  "  Oh, 
I've  commuted,"  said  Sprague. 

"  You  don't  say  so/1  said  John. 

And  that  night  when  John  wrote  a  letter  to  his 
wife,  telling  her  that  her  mother  was  well  and  was 
"  doing  up  "  blackberries,  tomatoes,  onions,  ground 
cherries,  pickles,  and  catsup,  he  added  a  postscript 
of  startling  import,  as  follows  :  — 

"  P.S.  —  Sprague  has  commuted." 


182 


-....-.^.....— ". 


CHAPTER   IX 


THE    RAISING    OF    THE    ROOF 

"  IV  /FR<  RIDABOK>  l  understand  from  Mr. 

V/l     Braddock  that  you   are   one   of  those 

•*•  ¥  A  sensible  men  who  would  rather  work 
for  fifteen  dollars  a  week  for  six  months,  than 
work  two  days  out  of  the  week  for  three  dollars 
and  a  half  a  day.  Am  I  right?" 

"  I  d'  know  as  you  are,"  said  Mr.  Ridabok. 
"  I'm  one  of  them  men  as  thinks  his  work  is 
worth  its  price." 

"  In  that  I  agree  with  you  entirely.  I  shouldn't 
wonder  if  it  was  worth  more  than  the  prevailing 
price.  But  that's  not  the  question  with  me.  I 
have  fifteen  dollars  a  week  to  spend  and  no  more, 
and  I  must  find  a  good  man  who  is  worth  a  good 
deal  more,  but  will  take  all  I've  got  and  be  satis 
fied  with  it.  Are  you  that  kind  of  a  man  ? " 

"  I  d'  know  as  I  am,"  said  Mr.  Ridabok. 
"What  is  it  you  want  to  do?" 


MAKING   OF   A    COUNTRY   HOME 

"  Rebuild  this  house/'  replied  John. 

"  And  you  hev  some  doubts  about  your  hevin' 
money  enough." 

"  Not  a  doubt  in  the  world,"  said  John,  "  if  I 
can  do  it  my  way.  You  see  you  have  a  great 
advantage  of  me.  You  have  a  great  deal  of  skill, 
and  I  have  only  a  small  salary.  I  was  thinking 
if  we  met  halfway,  I  could  get  the  benefit  of  your 
skill  and  you  could  get  some  of  my  salary." 

Mr.  Ridabok  looked  around  at  the  old- 
fashioned  room  critically. 

"  Thinkin'  of  makin'  a  contract  ?  " 

"  No,  only  an  agreement,  to  work  by  the 
week.  Cash  every  Saturday.  When  my  money 
gives  out,  you  stop.  I'll  furnish  the  ideas  and 
money,  you  do  the  work  and  ask  no  questions." 

"  Gimme  an  idea  of  what  you  want  to  do." 

John  put  the  plans  before  him.  Together 
they  studied  them  inch  by  inch.  One  man  was 
reticent,  patient,  careful,  mathematical ;  the  other 
was  explanatory,  voluble,  enthusiastic  —  built  the 
house  several  times,  in  fact,  in  the  air,  while  the 
carpenter  was  figuring. 

"  It's  goin'  to  cost  you  'bout  a  thousand  dol 
lars,"  said  Mr.  Ridabok  at  last,  as  he  held  a  two- 
foot  rule  in  front  of  him  and  counted  the  inches. 

John  gave  a  little  gulp.  "  How  much  of  it 
for  lumber  and  other  material  ? " 

Mr.  Ridabok  fell  to  figuring  again.  "  I  should 
say  roughly  about  seven  hundred  dollars.  I'll 
have  to  go  over  it  carefully." 

"  Don't  you  think  that  it  will  be  a  fine-looking 
184 


THE   RAISING   OF   THE   ROOF 

Jentleman's  place  when  it  is  finished?"  asked 
ohn,  holding  up  the  plans. 

"  Make  a  nice  house,"  said  Mr.  Ridabok, 
guardedly.  "  When  did  you  think  of  starting  in  ? " 

"  Now.  Suppose  you  just  figure  the  stuff  in 
feet.  Fll  have  the  first  load  up  here  to-morrow, 
and  Mart  can  bring  your  tool-chest  up  in  the 
wagon.  Then  while  you  are  getting  out  the 
lumber  Fll  have  the  foundation  of  the  extension 
and  bay  put  in.  You  can  then  rattle  on  the  roof 
with  a  helper,  close  in  the  whole  thing  before 
frost,  and  work  inside  when  the  winter  comes." 

Mr.  Ridabok  said  nothing.  He  was  figuring. 
It  seemed  to  John  that  he  was  unpardonably 
slow.  But  it  did  not  occur  to  John  that  he 
might  also  be  pardonably  sure.  Finally  the 
schedule,  made  with  a  blunt  pencil  and  not  as 
correct  in  its  orthography  as  in  its  mathematics, 
stood  out  as  follows :  — 

Rafters 912  ft. 

Roof  boards 16,800  ft. 

Plates 218  ft. 

Siding 700  ft. 

Studding 175  ft. 

Estimated  cost  of  lumber $300.00 

Shingles  —  56  bundles     .      ....      .        67.00 

Bay  Window  —  sash  and  glass   .      .      .      .      100.00 

Nails 18.00 

Carpenter  work 300.00 

$785.00 
Add  mason  work 100.00 


Total $885.00 

185 


MAKING   OF   A   COUNTRY   HOME 

John  looked  at  this  result  with  a  double  feel 
ing  of  shrinkage  and  exultation.  But  as  Mr. 
Ridabok  said  nothing  about  accepting  the  job, 
and  went  on  interesting  himself  in  the  details, 
John  came  to  the  conclusion  that  he  intended 
to  accept  the  terms  on  condition  that  they  were 
not  mentioned  again.  Practical  men  have  their 
little  intuitions  as  well  as  women.  Mr.  Ridabok 
managed  to  convey  the  idea  that  he  adjusted 
himself  to  the  condition  under  compulsion.  In 
fact,  it  was  understood  without  words  that  so  far 
as  the  world  was  concerned,  he  was  to  get  three 
dollars  and  a  half  a  day,  and  if  he  didn't  get  it 
nobody  would  be  the  wiser;  and  this  point  got 
over  with  the  acumen  of  silence,  Mr.  Ridabok 
went  away  saying :  cc  I  s'pose  you'll  send  for 
that  chist  in  the  mornin'." 

When  he  was  gone  John  stood  with  contradic 
tory  feelings  on  the  edge  of  his  accomplishment, 
and  felt  all  the  exhilaration  of  a  pioneer  with 
some  of  the  misgivings  of  an  amateur. 

He  had  five  hundred  dollars  put  by  for  the 
mortgage,  but  the  mortgage  had  four  years  to 
run ;  and  he  could  squeeze  the  other  five  hundred 
piecemeal  out  of  his  salary  in  six  months.  It  was 
as  plain  as  a  pikestaff.  He  could  always  renew 
a  trivial  mortgage  of  five  hundred  dollars  on  a 
house  that  he  had  spent  a  thousand  on.  Lucy 
was  quite  right  when  she  said  that  a  man  must 
take  some  chances  if  he  expected  to  make  a  hit. 

Many  a  man  before  John  Dennison  had,  with 
the  noblest  intention,  put  his  foot  on  this  delusive 

186 


THE   RAISING   OF   THE    ROOF 

ground,  and  found  when  the  time  came  that  he 
had  miscalculated.  John  knew  that  well  enough, 
but  if  he  was  not  a  speculator  in  the  ordinary 
sense  of  that  word,  neither  was  he  a  sentimen 
talist.  He  figured  it  all  out  to  himself  as  quite 
within  the  allowable  scope  of  a  discreet  ambition. 
He  would  keep  everything  else  down  to  a  mini 
mum  of  expense  until  he  had  accomplished  this 
purpose.  It  is  only  fair  to  him  to  say  that  he 
knew  that  many  men  had  done  this  also. 

This  interview  took  place  on  the  26th  of  Au 
gust.  In  two  weeks  an  enormous  pile  of  lumber 
had  been  stored  up  adjacent  to  the  workshop. 
Mr.  Ridabok  was  working  away  at  the  material, 
and  the  two-feet  foundations  were  in  for  the  bay 
and  the  extension  of  the  dining-room. 

John  looked  on  with  eager  satisfaction.  A  dis 
aster  to  himself  would  now  ruin  all,  and  his  affairs 
would  be  in  a  worse  plight  than  wheij  he  started. 
But  what  young  man  who  sets  out  to  run  a  race 
calculates  the  chances  of  paralysis  or  lightning  ? 
One  thing  would  have  made  matters  more  com 
fortable,  he  thought.  He  missed  his  wife  during 
the  first  week.  He  wanted  a  confidante  and  part 
ner  in  the  preparation  —  somebody  that  he  could 
talk  it  all  over  with  step  by  step ;  the  wife  could 
have  shown  her  belief  in  the  result  through  her 
faith  in  him.  He  thought  he  was  entitled  to  this, 
and  he  had  certainly  counted  on  it.  At  the  end 
of  a  week  Lucy  came  back.  He  met  her  at  the 
railway  station  in  the  city,  and  they  came  home 
together.  Her  appearance  surprised  him  a  little. 


MAKING   OF  A   COUNTRY   HOME 

Man-like  he  thought  she  looked  younger,  and 
that  piqued  him.  The  fact  is,  she  didn't  —  she 
only  looked  gayer.  In  matters  of  appearance 
men  cannot  always  distinguish  between  piquancy 
of  manner  and  freshness  of  condition.  She  wore 
a  new  and  exhilarating  hat,  and  her  conversation 
was  dressed  in  a  fresh  volubility. 

"  Well,  you  dear  old  drudge,"  she  said,  "  you 
never  came  near  me  all  the  time  I  was  in  the  city, 
did  you  ?  And  you  knew  I  had  so  many  things 
to  tell  you  —  what  are  you  staring  at  —  my  hat  ? 
Isn't  it  becoming  ?  It's  Kate's.  How's  Harold  ? 
I  suppose  the  dear  old  homestead  and  the  dear 
old  red  mud  are  just  the  same.  Isn't  it  awfully 
hot?" 

"  The  hat  certainly  becomes  you,"  said  John, 
"  but  I  should  think  it  would  be  more  comfort 
able  if  it  were  your  own." 

"Don't  be  foolish,  dear.  I  couldn't  afford  to 
pay  for  a  hat  like  that,  and  Kate  has  all  kinds 
sent  over  to  her  just  to  try.  I  don't  believe  you 
are  glad  to  see  me  one  bit." 

"Oh,  yes,  I  am,"  replied  John,  "but  I'm  not 
as  glad  to  see  you  one  bit,  as  I  would  be  to  see 
you  every  day." 

"  Really  ?  Everything  is  torn  up,  I  suppose, 
as  usual." 

"Worse  than  ever.  I've  had  the  stone-masons 
there,  and  now  the  carpenter  is  come." 

"  How  nice  !  When  will  they  get  through  ? 
How's  Medusa  ?  Don't  you  want  to  know  how 
Wes  is  getting  on  ?  " 

188 


THE   RAISING   OF   THE   ROOF 

"  Oh,  I  know,"  said  John.  "  Wes  can  only  get 
on  in  one  way.  It's  humiliating  to  confess  it,  but 
it  isn't  my  way.  Is  that  dandy  waist  Kate's  too  ?  " 

"  How  mean  you  can  be,  and  you  haven't  seen 
me  for  a  week." 

And  so  on,  buzz,  buzz,  till  they  drove  in  at 
their  own  gate,  and,  without  looking  at  the  foun 
dations  or  the  lumber,  Lucy  ran  into  the  house  and 
began  to  hug  and  kiss  the  family  seriatim,  ending 
up  with  a  superfluous  demonstration  on  Medusa. 

It  was  with  some  misgiving  that  John  learned 
of  his  wife's  intention  to  return  to  the  city. 
"Yes,"  she  said,  aiming  her  explanation  at  her 
mother,  "  I  left  Kate  down  with  the  sick  head 
ache,  and  she  made  me  promise  to  come  back  and 
stay  until  she  got  better.  It  would  be  too  mean 
to  leave  her  alone  in  that  big  house  and  she  all 
used  up." 

But  this  information  was  softened  with  so  much 
sudden  interest  in  the  details  of  John's  work,  that 
he  did  not  get  a  chance  to  upbraid  her.  "  You 
must  show  me  the  foundations,"  she  said,  "  and 
explain  everything.  And  I  want  to  see  the  lumber 
—  oh,  yes,  how's  the  cistern,  is  that  all  right  ? 
You  will  explain  everything,  John,  won't  you  ?  " 

There  was  not  the  slightest  suspicion  in  John's 
mind  that  her  vivacious  efforts  to  act  as  if  she 
had  been  away  six  months  were  a  little  overdone, 
and  that  she  might  be  crowding  as  much  of  a 
disagreeable  duty  into  a  small  space,  so  as  to  get 
away  to  the  city  as  soon  as  possible.  So  he  kept 
his  temper.  How  could  he  do  otherwise  when 

189 


MAKING   OF   A   COUNTRY   HOME 

a  warm  arm  was  locked  in  his,  and  there  was  a 
purring  accompaniment  of  "  my  dears/'  and  she 
wanted  to  know  just  how  big  the  bay  would  be, 
and  expressed  unbounded  delight  at  a  dining-room 
that  was  as  yet  safely  hidden  in  John's  imagina 
tion,  and  even  showed  an  unnatural  interest  in  the 
pup,  that  had  now  grown  to  be  a  long,  suspicious 
animal  that  had  to  be  kept  chained  in  the  stable, 
and  that  put  his  head  down  and  lifted  his  lip  to 
show  a  white  tooth  warningly  when  she  said, 
"  Why,  you  beautiful  dog  !  "  And  then  how  she 
bubbled  over  with  her  city  experiences.  They 
were  so  naive,  so  prettily  trivial  against  the  hard 
details  of  home  building,  that  his  wife  seemed  to 
John  to  be  in  a  twitter  like  a  bird  coming  out  of 
freedom  to  a  new  cage. 

"What  do  you  think,"  she  said,  "  Holcomb 
came  to  the  house  to  call,  and  delighted  every 
body  with  his  spirits  and  his  voice.  He  is  a 
regular  visitor  there  now,  and  he  has  written  a 
comic  opera  —  think  of  that  —  Mexican  or  some 
thing,  full  of  the  most  delightful  chirrups.  He 
taught  me  the  c  Bandits'  Chorus,'  for  I  couldn't 
get  the  melody  out  of  my  head.  It  goes  like 
this,  —  wait  till  I  show  you,"  and  she  lit  on  the 
piano  stool  and  began  to  play  and  sing  a  chorus. 

"  « We're  vaqueros  in  the  Summer, 

And  torredos  in  the  Fall, 
And  caveleros  gayly  when  we  sing. 
We  have  soft  Castilian  names 
And  we  play  at  parlor  games, 
But  we're  very  nasty  bandits  in  the  Spring.' 

190 


THE    RAISING   OF   THE    ROOF 

"  Isn't  it  jolly  ?  You  should  hear  Holcomb 
sing  it  with  a  sombrero  on." 

Mother  wanted  to  know  what  it  meant,  and 
John's  ear,  which  was  not  of  the  best,  failed  to 
catch  what  Lucy  called  the  swing  of  it,  which 
would  have  piqued  her  if  she  had  not  been  self- 
set  on  amiability,  for  there  is  really  something  dis 
couraging  in  having  a  husband  who  does  not  exult 
in  a  pretty  woman's  bravado  and  saucy  declara 
tion  that  she  is  a  very  nasty  bandit  in  the  spring. 

"  Oh,  well,  dear,"  she  said,  jumping  up  with 
the  same  alacrity,  "  you  don't  care  for  music,  do 
you,  and  you  want  to  talk  to  me  about  the  cis 
tern,  don't  you  ? " 

"  I  should  like  to  have  you  go  over  the  accounts 
with  me,"  said  John.  "  I  want  to  show  you  just 
where  we  stand,  what  has  been  done,  and  what  we 
are  to  expect." 

"  Oh,  give  me  a  breathing  spell,  dear  !  Every 
thing  is  going  all  right,  I  am  sure.  The  place 
looks  just  lovely,  and  it's  going  to  be  beautiful 
when  it's  finished,  and  I  suppose  it  will  be  fin 
ished  sometime,  John.  That  reminds  me,  we 
ought  to  have  the  house  heated  by  steam  —  you 
don't  know  how  convenient  it  is." 

When  Tilka  put  before  her  at  breakfast  some 
fresh  mushrooms  on  toast,  her  astonishment  was 
great.  "  Why,  where  did  you  get  the  cham 
pignons  ?  Kate  sent  all  over  town  for  some,  and 
when  she  got  them  the  cook  spoiled  them.  Aren't 
they  lovely  ? " 

"  Mart  raises  them  in  the  stable,"  said  John, 
191 


MAKING   OF  A   COUNTRY   HOME 

"  in  an  escritoire,  and  therefore  they  ought  to  be 
French,  but  they  are  not.  They  are  solid  Amer 
ican  mushrooms." 

"  Kate  had  so  much  trouble  with  her  cook  that 
she  discharged  her/' 

"And  did  the  cooking  herself,  I  suppose/' 
added  John. 

"  Oh,  no,  she  abolished  the  cooking  too ! " 

"  Abolished  it  ?  How  about  the  eating  ?  She 
didn't  abolish  that,  did  she,  with  Holcomb  com 
ing  there  regularly  ? " 

"  Had  the  food  sent  in,"  said  Lucy.  "  It's  al 
together  more  convenient  and  less  mussy.  Kate 
couldn't  stand  the  smells  from  the  kitchen.  I 
think  it  affected  her  neuralgia.  Think  of  the 
worry  and  fuss  we  got  rid  of.  When  it  comes 
time  to  eat,  she  says,  c  Shall  we  go  out,  or  have  it 
sent  in  ? '  and  if  one  don't  feel  like  dressing,  it's  an 
awful  convenience.  You  just  ring  the  call  and 
write  out  your  order." 

"  That's  a  great  advantage,"  said  John.  "  You 
never  know  what  it  costs  till  it's  too  late  to  cor 
rect  it.  I  suppose  Kate  thinks  it  is  one  of  the 
modern  conveniences,  like  Cramp." 

"  Why,  what  do  you  mean,  John  ?  " 

"  I  mean,"  replied  John,  "  that  our  mushrooms 
have  no  bills  behind  them,  or  sick  headaches. 
They  are  the  common  American  kind,  and  won't 
keep  you  awake  nights,  so  they  are  not  a  modern 


convenience." 


"  How  preachy  he  is  getting  to  be,  isn't  he, 
Mother  ?  " 

192 


THE   RAISING   OF   THE   ROOF 

"  I  suppose,"  said  Mother,  "  that  Kate  buys 
all  her  preserves  ready  put  up  at  the  store."  She 
said  this  with  well-guarded  disdain  for  such  a  pro 
ceeding. 

"  Preserves  —  gracious,  no.  I  don't  think  city 
people  care  for  them.  She  keeps  rillettes  and 
pates  in  the  house  for  a  quick  tiffin  —  John,  we 
must  lay  in  some  rillettes,  they're  delicious  and  so 
convenient  if  anybody  drops  in.  Only  twenty- 
five  cents  a  can  —  you  know  rillettes  ?  " 

"  Never  heard  of  them,"  said  John.  "  Do  they 
grow  on  bushes  or  in  drills  ? " 

"  How  ridiculous  you  are  !  " 

"Ain't  I  ?  "  responded  John,  submerging  his 
grammar  in  his  other  ignorance.  "  Do  you  know, 
if  I  keep  on  at  these  homely  improvements  long 
enough,  that  I  will  get  to  believe  that  ordinary 
sagacity  grows  on  shrubs  and  can  be  picked  by 
the  quart.  I  suppose  I'll  have  to  go  down  to 
the  Astor  House  Rotunda  and  get  some  fresh 
ideas  about  life." 

Then  Lucy  let  off  such  a  roulade  of  genuine 
laughter  that  John,  despite  his  unsympathetic  ear, 
fell  into  the  refrain  of  it  with  a  weak  smile. 

When,  a  day  or  two  later,  Lucy  went  away, 
she  hugged  and  kissed  Harold,  and  said  to  John 
with  a  little  extra  effusiveness  before  she  left  him, 
"  Now,  do  hurry  up,  dear,  and  get  things  to  rights 
so  that  we  can  invite  our  friends." 

And  this  sounded  to  John,  after  she  had  gone, 
very  much  as  if  she  would  bring  Holcomb  with 
her  when  she  came  back. 


MAKING   OF   A   COUNTRY   HOME 

Then  the  late  drouth  set  in.  John  could  not 
quite  divest  himself  of  the  notion  that  it  was  in 
some  way  associated  with  the  absence  of  his  wife. 
She  had  taken  all  the  humidity  with  her.  He 
had  to  acknowledge  to  Mother  that  it  would  be 
some  relief  to  hear  her  sing  that  absurd  "  Bandits' 
Chorus  "  in  the  evening. 

What  was  his  surprise  to  hear  Mother  say : 
"John,  I  wouldn't  worry  if  I  were  you.  Girls 
have  to  learn  some  things  as  well  as  men.  It's 
best  to  have  them  go  away  and  learn  them  as 
soon  as  possible.  They  are  generally  more  com 
fortable  afterwards." 

"  What  things  ?  "  asked  John. 

"Well,"  replied  Mother,  as  she  held  out  a 
spoonful  of  grape  jelly  to  cool  before  tasting  it, 
"  one  of  them  is  that  everything  that  glitters  ain't 
gold,  and  sometimes  not  even  good  gilt.  Lucy 
was  always  pretty  quick  with  her  lessons,  but  she 
had  to  have  'em  put  before  her.  You  just  go 
on  and  have  patience." 

This  sounded  slightly  oracular,  and  John  won 
dered  if  a  mother  might  not  have  some  advantage 
of  him  in  her  knowledge  of  Lucy's  character. 

"  The  city  is  a  great  temptation  to  a  young  and 
lively  woman  like  Lucy,"  he  said  tentatively. 

"  So  it  is,"  said  Mother,  "  but  temptations  are 
the  best  kind  of  lessons,  after  all,  when  a  young 
woman  has  had  the  right  bringing  up.  Lucy  will 
get  her  dose  of  it,  and  come  back  to  her  milk  like 
a  good  cat  —  and  speaking  of  cats,  John,  you 
never  brought  me  up  those  condition  powders 

194 


THE   RAISING   OF   THE    ROOF 

for  Medusa.  The  poor  thing  tries  to  drink  her 
milk,  but  it  goes  against  her." 

Whatever  encouragement  the  Mother  had  in 
tended  to  convey  was  thus  neutralized  uninten 
tionally  by  the  cat.  Not  long  after,  when  John 
walked  out  of  his  shop  to  take  an  inspiring  look 
at  his  pile  of  lumber,  he  found  the  bull  terrier 
fastened  to  a  staple  by  a  three-foot  chain,  drawn 
out  to  its  extreme  length  as  the  dog  tried  to  get 
at  the  cat,  that  had  sat  down  just  a  foot  beyond 
its  reach,  and  glared  with  the  disdain  of  composure 
at  the  terrier's  endeavours  to  get  at  her.  That  was 
the  superior  feline  opinion  of  the  dog,  the  chain, 
Sprague,  and  the  master's  provision.  Mart,  who 
was  leaning  on  the  window-sill  of  the  stable  watch 
ing  the  two  brutes,  informed  John  complacently 
that  the  cat  came  every  day  and  sat  down  just  a 
foot  beyond  the  reach  of  the  chain  with  unper 
turbed  defiance,  and  when  the  terrier  made  a  leap 
for  her  and  was  brought  up  with  a  cruel  jerk,  the 
cat  never  turned  a  hair,  but  seemed  to  ask,  with 
profound  placidity,  how  his  neck  felt. 

"It's  all  right,"  said  Mart.  "When  she  has 
made  up  her  mind  that  it's  perfectly  safe,  I'll 
loosen  the  staple.  I  wanted  to  speak  to  you,  sir, 
about  the  garden.  You've  been  so  busy  lately 
that  you  haven't  thought  much  about  it." 

"  There's  nothing  the  matter  with  the  garden, 
is  there  ? " 

"  Nothing  in  particular,  sir,  only  I  can't  keep 
up  with  it.  I  thought  you'd  like  to  see  how  your 
waterworks  come  out.  S'pose  you  walk  down  the 

'95 


MAKING   OF   A   COUNTRY   HOME 

slope  to  the  melons."  John  followed  him  down 
through  the  overgrown  garden  paths,  and  let  him 
do  most  of  the  talking.  As  they  stood  on  the 
edge  of  the  last  terrace.  Mart  said  :  "  Fields  pretty 
gray  on  either  side,  sir.  Look  at  them  tomat- 
tusses,  sir — early  Freedoms.  There's  only  twelve 
bushes,  but  they're  dandies."  He  plucked  one 
and  handed  it  to  John.  "  That's  good  enough 
for  a  prize,"  said  he.  "  I  thought  you'd  like  to 
see  whether  the  waterworks  paid." 

John  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  the  terrace  and 
dandled  the  big  tomato  admiringly.  Mart  con 
tinued  :  "  You  told  me  to  get  rid  of  all  the  stuff  we 
could  not  use,  and  I've  sold  two  bushels  of  them." 

"You  don't  say  so." 

"  Yes,  sir.  S'pose  you  step  down  and  look  at 
the  Delmonico  melons.  There  was  enough  for 
five  families,  so  I  got  rid  of  all  we  couldn't  use." 

"  Sold  'em  ?  " 

"Yes.  I  wanted  to  speak  to  you  about  it,  but 
you  were  so  busy  with  your  house  that  I  didn't 
like  to  bother  you.  There's  the  account,  sir," 
and  Mart  pulled  out  a  little  book  and  handed  it 
to  John,  who  ran  his  eye  down  the  following  list: 

100  melons $5'°° 

2  bushels  tomatoes 3 .00 

8  quarts  lima  beans 80 

2  bushels  early  potatoes 3 .00 

30  bunches  early  onions 1.25 

40  quarts  blackberries 3.20 

100  cucumbers l.oo 

Amount  carried  forward       .      .     .      .       $17.25 
196 


THE   RAISING   OF   THE   ROOF 

Amount  brought  from  preceding  page     .       $17.25 
40  bunches  white  Milan  turnips     .      .      .      .      i.oo 

45  bunches  lettuce 2.20 

20  bunches  beets i.oo 

10  cabbages ••'•-.      »4O 

20  cauliflowers 2.00 

100  sweet  corn 2.00 

2  pecks  butter  beans 50 

25  summer  squashes 1.20 

25  egg  plants 2.50 

I  quart  sweet  peppers 20 

20  bunches  radishes 60 

Total $30-85 

"  A  man  would  never  get  rich  on  market  gar 
dening,  Mart/*  said  John. 

"  Well,  sir,"  replied  Mart,  a  little  resentfully, 
"  there's  a  good  many  ways  of  gettin'  a  livin'  that 
ain't  so  profitable  in  the  end.  I'll  get  twenty 
dollars  more  out  of  that  garden  before  the  frost 
hurts  it,  and  then  there's  a  good  row  of  celery 
started  that  you  can't  eat  even  if  you  have  that 
city  chap  with  you.  Considerin'  that  there  wasn't 
much  done  to  the  garden,  and  you've  been  livin' 
off  it  for  three  months,  and  I'll  have  a  pretty  good 
cellar  full  of  stuff  for  the  winter,  it  seems  to  me 
that  it's  a  fine  showin'  of  what  you  could  do  with 
it  if  you  give  it  some  attention.  There  ain't  any 
body  round  here  has  got  such  tomattusses  as  them, 
sir,  and  we  might  just  as  well  hed  ten  bushels  as 
two  to  sell,  when  we  got  that  water  in.  Every 
body's  tomattusses  were  burnt  up  two  weeks  ago, 
and  Pop  Swarthout,  he's  pullin'  water  from  the 
brook  to  do  his  washin'." 

197 


MAKING   OF   A   COUNTRY   HOME 

"  And  how  much  do  you  calculate  you  can  get 
out  of  the  garden  next  year  —  if  you  have  your 
own  way  ? " 

"  Well,  I  ain't  settin'  no  figures,  Mr.  Dennison. 
But  you  can  see  for  yourself  what  it's  been  doin', 
and  what  it  might  have  done  if  I  hadn't  given  so 
much  time  to  other  things.  I  s'pose  you'll  be 
through  buildin'  next  season  ?  " 

"  I  hope  so,"  said  John,  laughing. 

"  Well,  sir,  if  you  don't  mind  takin'  a  bit  of 
advice,  I'd  invest  that  fifty  dollars  in  fertilizer  this 
fall,  and,  take  my  word  for  it,  it  will  turn  you  up 
seventy-five  per  cent  for  the  investment,  and 
mebbe  a  hundred.  Why,  sir,  there's  a  hundred 
dollars  a  year  in  them  berries  if  they  was  cut  out 
and  doubled  up." 

"  Mart,"  said  John,  cc  your  mushrooms  were  a 
great  success  this  morning  at  breakfast.  It  must 
have  taken  you  a  good  while  to  bring  them  about." 

"  Not  at  all,  sir.  It  didn't  take  fifteen  minutes' 
work.  If  you'll  step  up  to  the  stable  I'll  show 
you." 

And  true  enough,  when  they  got  there,  Mart 
went  up  to  the  old  bureau  that  he  had  bought  at 
the  auction,  and  pulled  out  one  of  the  drawers. 
It  disclosed  a  bed  of  mushrooms  thickly  growing 
over  its  whole  surface. 

"  I  just  put  in  a  few  shovelsful  of  manure  and 
soil  in  each  drawer,  sowed  a  little  spawn,  and  there 
you  are.  They  like  the  dark,  sir,  and  I  calculate 
there's  a  breakfast  in  each  drawer  for  some  time 
to  come.  Lord,  sir,  you  couldn't  eat  all  the 

198 


THE    RAISING   OF   THE   ROOF 

mushrooms  that  bureau  will  produce.  I  used  to 
keep  a  piece  of  furniture  like  that  in  my  cellar 
before  I  came  to  this  country.  It  was  meat  and 
vegetables." 

"  Mart,"  said  John,  reflectively,  "  let  me  tell 
you  what  I  wish  you'd  do.  Just  make  up  a  bas 
ketful  of  the  best  things  you've  got  in  the  garden, 
and  put  some  of  the  mushrooms  on  top.  I'd  like 
to  send  a  basketful  down  to  my  friends  in  the  city. 
I  think  it  would  surprise  them." 

Acting  on  this  suggestion,  they  filled  a  basket 
with  the  best  of  their  produce  —  melons,  cucum 
bers,  cauliflower,  lettuce,  egg  plant,  tomatoes, 
and  mushrooms,  and  they  both  regarded  it  with 
genuine  pride.  When  John  went  to  the  city  he 
took  it  with  him,  and  sent  it  up  by  messenger  to 
Wesley's  establishment,  with  a  card  in  it  simply 
inscribed,  "  From  the  Homestead." 

"  That  will  open  their  eyes,"  said  Mart. 
"  City  people  don't  get  such  fresh  stuff  as  that, 
I'll  be  bound."  To  which  John  merely  replied, 
"  Yes,  that  ought  to  make  Mrs.  Dennison  home 
sick." 

The  September  drouth  was  upon  them  when 
Mr.  Ridabok  announced  that  he  was  ready  to 
take  the  roof  off.  The  country  was  lying  sear 
and  arid.  The  little  river  at  the  foot  of  the  hill 
had  shrunk  to  a  rivulet.  The  roads  everywhere 
were  powdery  and  stifling,  and  the  bordering  trees 
and  hedgerows  were  ashen  with  the  dust.  Most 
of  the  wells  in  the  neighbourhood  had  given  out, 
and  nature  was  staggering  with  a  prolonged  thirst. 

199 


MAKING   OF  A   COUNTRY   HOME 

"We'll  get  a  couple  of  weeks  of  this,"  said 
Mr.  Ridabok,  "  and  we'll  make  those  shingles  fly 
before  it  rains." 

He  picked  up  two  farm  hands  who  could 
shingle,  and  with  John's  and  Mart's  assistance 
there  was  quite  a  gang  of  lively  workmen  one 
morning  hard  at  it  when  Sprague  and  May  Brad- 
dock  stopped  in  the  pony  phaeton  to  admire  the 
scene,  and  Sprague,  standing  up  in  the  vehicle, 
shouted,  "  Lovely  !  lovely  !  " 

John  now  began  to  taste  some  of  the  rewards 
of  his  persistence  and  foresight.  Mr.  Swarthout 
came  and  looked  over  the  stone  fence  in  his  shirt 
sleeves,  with  a  real  interest  in  the  work  and  a 
persistent  ignoring  of  the  only  garden  in  the 
neighbourhood  that  was  not  burnt  up.  He  had 
been  known  to  remark  that  people  who  eat 
muskmelons  and  mushrooms  for  breakfast  are, 
as  a  rule,  "  foolin'  with  their  innards."  He  did 
not  say  that  slapjacks  and  rye  coffee  were  the 
original  paradisaical  regimen,  but  there  was  a 
large  and  self-satisfied  intimation  of  that  sort  in 
his  face. 

That  week  of  arduous  work  was  long  remem 
bered  by  John,  less  on  account  of  its  stress  than 
on  account  of  its  zest  and  animation.  There 
were  many  surprises  in  it  and  some  little  set 
backs,  but  in  spite  of  all,  the  doing  was  like  a 
merrymaking.  It  is  true,  the  chimneys  had  to 
be  built  up  four  feet  to  accommodate  the  new  pitch 
of  the  roof,  and  Mr.  Ridabok  had  overlooked 
this  in  his  calculations,  a  little  omission  that 

200 


THE   RAISING   OF  THE   ROOF 

added  thirty-five  dollars  to  the  original  estimate. 
Then,  too,  the  cypress  shingles  had  to  be  changed 
for  stained  shingles,  when  John  began  to  realize 
how  raw  that  new  roof  would  look  on  those  old 
walls ;  but  the  celerity  with  which  the  external 
transformation  was  effected  under  his  eye,  made 
him  blindly  buoyant,  and  he  worked  untiringly 
with  an  ardour  that  he  often  thought  of  after 
wards,  as  he  asked  himself  what  he  had  been 
doing  with  all  his  spare  time  before  this  task  was 
undertaken. 

More  than  anything  else  the  newly  discovered 
friendliness  of  his  neighbours  helped  him  out.  As 
soon  as  Mr.  Swarthout  understood  the  exigency 
of  the  case,  he  brought  his  team  and  man  over 
and  offered  to  do  all  the  hauling,  and  another 
neighbour  who  was  passing  came  in  and  lent  a 
hand.  This  kind  of  assistance  was  the  usual 
thing  among  these  people.  It  seemed  to  be  the 
remains  of  an  old  custom  of  house-raising ;  and 
as  Mr.  Ridabok  had  everything  ready  to  fit  into 
its  place,  it  was  not  long  before  the  new  sky-line 
of  the  improved  house  rose  up  with  fresh  dignity 
among  the  trees,  and  John  saw  his  dream  emerge 
from  the  paper  and  lift  itself  with  new  pride 
before  his  eyes. 

"Now,  then,"  said  Mr.  Ridabok,  "if  we  can 
get  the  sash  in  on  that  bay  while  this  weather 
lasts,  I  kalkerlate  you'll  be  all  hunky  dory.  I'll 
have  the  deck  on  that  bay  day  after  to-morrow, 
and  if  you  could  have  the  glass  into  them  sash 
all  ready,  that  room  will  be  tight  and  ready  to 

201 


MAKING   OF   A   COUNTRY   HOME 
use.     It  won't  take  long  to  put  a  coat  of  priming 


on." 


Then  John  became  a  glazier.  He  took  a  few 
instructions  from  Mr.  Ridabok  how  to  spring  in 
the  glass  with  a  chisel  and  how  to  use  a  putty 
knife,  and  when  he  had  the  hang  of  it  he  worked 
with  much  lightness  of  heart  in  his  shop  long 
after  the  lights  were  out  in  the  house. 

During  this  week  of  hard  work  John's  mother- 
in-law  rose  to  quiet  heights  of  patient  endurance 
that  elicited  his  unbounded  respect.  Mrs.  Swart- 
hout  had  invited  her  to  come  over  with  the  boy 
and  stay  at  the  farmhouse  till  the  roof  was  on; 
but  Mother  stuck  to  the  ship,  sleeping  now  on 
the  lounge,  now  on  chairs,  and  even  on  the  floor, 
going  from  room  to  room  as  the  work  exposed 
apartment  after  apartment,  keeping  an  equable 
temper,  and  looking  after  the  household  duties 
with  an  unperturbed  patience,  so  that  John  slowly 
began  to  forgive  her  even  the  cat. 

But  just  as  he  had  reached  this  reasonable  con 
dition,  an  accident  occurred  that  came  like  an  evil 
omen  and  filled  him  with  self-reproaches.  He 
was  working  away  at  his  frames  when  an  unearthly 
scream  startled  him.  He  rushed  out  upon  the 
grass  and  saw  in  a  flash  what  had  occurred. 

Mart  had  loosened  the  staple. 

The  bull  terrier  had  Medusa  by  the  throat, 
and  was  giving  her  the  final  shake  as  John  came 
up.  He  was  too  late.  The  cat-inquiries  as  to 
how  the  dog's  neck  felt  were  hushed  forever,  for 
its  own  neck  was  broken;  and  there  was  Mart 

202 


THE   RAISING  OF  THE   ROOF 

leaning  on  the  window-sill  of  the  stable  contem 
plating  the  disaster  as  coolly  as  if  he  had  long 
contemplated  it. 

John  picked  the  dead  animal  up,  carried  it  into 
the  stable,  and  laid  it  tenderly  on  the  feed-box. 

"  Go  and  chain  that  dog  up,"  he  said  to  Mart 
with  a  gruffness  he  had  never  before  used. 

Fortunately  Lucy's  mother  was  at  that  moment 
over  at  the  Swarthout  house;  but  in  spite  of  her 
ignorance  of  the  affair,  John  felt  an  unexpected 
twinge  of  compunction  in  having  thus  requited 
her  for  her  faithfulness. 

In  spite  of  himself  and  the  noisy  assurance  of 
a  robin  that  the  deed  was  all  right  and  proper,  it 
looked  to  him  like  a  stroke  of  ill  luck. 

Have  you  never  noticed  that  as  soon  as  a  man 
admits  this  superstitious  notion,  something  turns 
up  to  corroborate  it  ? 

John  walked  to  the  house  moodily,  and  just  as 
he  reached  the  door  a  telegram  from  the  city  was 
put  into  his  hand,  and  this  is  what  it  said:  — 

"  Lucy  sick.     Come  at  once. 

"  KATE." 


203 


CHAPTER  X 

RECOMPENSE 

IN  the  rush  and  strain  of  endeavour,  directed 
mainly  to  the  materials  about  him,  John  had 
not  found  time  or  disposition  to  think  of  the 
inevitable  and  unexpected.     The  news  so  sudden 
and  out  of  all  relation  to  his  thoughts,  and  withal 
so  vaguely  full  of  dire  possibilities,  was  in  effect  a 
blow,  that  one  might  say  had  been  delivered  by  an 
unseen  hand,  and  was  cruelly  disturbing. 

He  went  flying  to  the  city  in  the  evening,  eager 
and  apprehensive,  and  fast  as  he  flew  his  fears  kept 
ahead  of  him,  for  in  such  crises  the  mind  jumps 
ahead  of  railroads  and  telegraphs  to  all  kinds  of 
ominous  conclusions.  The  possibility  of  having 
his  wife  taken  out  of  the  scheme  of  preparation 
had  never  occurred  to  him,  and  the  mere  thought 
of  it  suddenly  threw  an  air  of  futility  over  all 
that  he  had  been  doing.  Could  it  be  possible 
that  his  projects  and  his  efforts  could  suddenly 

204 


RECOMPENSE 

be  struck  with  devastation  and  tumbled  into 
dust  ? 

He  never  remembered  arriving  in  the  city.  All 
the  usual  circumstances  of  a  journey  were  whelmed 
and  obliterated  in  an  impatient  anxiety.  He 
reached  the  house  of  his  friend  about  nine  o'clock 
in  the  evening,  and  going  precipitately  up  the  steps, 
rang  the  bell  with  a  summoning  vigour.  When 
the  door  was  opened  by  the  maid,  the  sound  of  a 
piano  and  the  voice  of  a  man  singing,  together 
with  a  little  burst  of  laughter,  greeted  him.  With 
out  any  regard  to  the  formalities,  he  said :  "  I 
am  Mr.  Dennison.  Where  is  Mrs.  Dennison  ?  " 
The  girl  looked  at  him,  a  little  surprised  at  his 
eagerness,  and  as  she  stepped  back  Kate  Ellis 
appeared  in  the  hall,  seemingly  blown  there  by  a 
gust  of  laughter,  and  greeting  him  with  surprising 
unconcern,  said :  "  Oh,  is  that  you,  Mr.  Denni 
son  ?  You  got  my  telegram." 

"  How  is  Lucy  ? "  asked  John,  waiving  aside  all 
else  that  was  ceremonious,  and  making  it  sound 
very  much  as  if  he  had  said,  "Am  I  too  late?" 

"  Lucy  has  just  gone  upstairs  to  lie  down  a  few 
moments,"  Kate  replied  smilingly.  "  She'll  be 
delighted  to  know  that  you  came  so  promptly." 

"  Can  I  see  her  ?  " 

"  I  wouldn't  disturb  her  for  a  while.  Let  her 
get  a  little  rest.  Come  into  the  dining  room. 
Holcomb  is  here  and  is  singing.  Wes  will  be 
glad  to  see  you." 

Before  John  was  well  aware  of  it,  he  found  him 
self  in  a  large  room  where  there  was  a  group  of 

205 


MAKING   OF   A   COUNTRY   HOME 

persons  enjoying  Mr.  Holcomb's  music.  They 
saluted  John  heartily,  and  Wesley,  in  a  dress  coat 
and  smoking  a  cigar,  cried  out :  "  By  Jove,  here's 
our  exemplary  rustic,  just  in  time  to  hear  your 
ballad  of  'The  Perambulating  Potato  Bug/  Hoi- 
comb.  Have  a  cigar,  old  fellow,  and  make  your 
self  at  home.  This  is  the  doctor.  Dr.  Chink, 
Mr.  Dennison." 

"  Have  you  been  attending  my  wife,  doctor  ?  " 
asked  John. 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  doctor,  keeping  half  of  his 
attention  on  Holcomb,  and  looking  as  if  he  were 
in  the  casual  habit  of  attending  everybody.  "  Lady's 
nervous  system  badly  shaken  up ;  miasm,  you 
know.  We're  going  to  send  her  to  the  seashore." 

"  It's  the  penalty  of  living  in  the  country,"  said 
Wesley,  cheerfully,  and  offering  John  a  cigar. 

A  little  later  he  found  Lucy  reclining  upon  a 
bed  in  an  evening  dress  very  much  unloosed.  The 
moment  she  saw  him,  she  exclaimed  languidly : 
"  Oh,  how  good  you  were  to  come,  John.  I  hope 
Kate  didn't  scare  you.  What  did  the  telegram 
say  ? " 

"  Here  it  is,"  replied  John.  "  It  says,  c  Lucy 
sick ;  come  at  once.'  It  was  so  imperative  that  I 
thought  of  bringing  an  undertaker  with  me." 

"  Isn't  that  just  like  Kate  ?  And  were  you 
really  scared  ? " 

John  pulled  a  chair  up  to  the  bed.  "  What  is 
the  matter  with  you,  my  poor  girl  ?  "  he  said, 
mingling  solicitude  with  some  reproach. 

"  Oh,  I'll  be  all  right  in  a  few  moments,"  said 
206 


RECOMPENSE 

Lucy,  "  if  you  will  not  make  me  more  nervous. 
Now  that  you  are  here  you  can  stay  down  a  couple 
of  days,  can't  you  ?  How's  the  cistern  and  every 
thing?  Listen  —  Holcomb  is  singing.  I  think 
I'll  get  up  and  go  down." 

"  You  will  have  to  excuse  me,  my  dear,"  said 
John.  "  I  did  not  come  to  New  York  post 
haste  to  hear  Holcomb  sing.  I  thought  you 
were  dying." 

And  now  you  are  disappointed  because  I  am 


not." 


John  felt  grim,  and  may  have  betrayed  a  little 
more  of  his  condition  than  he  intended. 

"You  will  dress  yourself  for  travelling,  my 
dear.  I  am  going  to  take  you  back  with  me 
to-night.  There  is  a  late  train,  and  Mart  will 
have  a  carriage  waiting  for  us.  If  you  are  going 
to  die  suddenly,  I  think  it  will  be  better  to  have 
you  under  my  eye  and  your  mother's." 

"  How  absurd  you  can  be.  Do  you  suppose 
I  could  get  myself  ready  in  an  hour,  and  at  this 
time  of  night  ?  What  would  Kate  think  of  such 
nonsense  ?  " 

"  I  haven't  considered  what  Kate  would  think. 
You  cannot  wear  that  dress,  I  suppose." 

"  Can't  I  ?  What  do  you  know  about  it  ? 
Suppose  you  hook  me  up  while  you  are  here. 
I  want  you  to  hear  Holcomb's  song.  Kate 
would  never  consent  to  my  going  away  in  this 
idiotic  manner." 

"  Kate's  consent  isn't  at  all  necessary,  I  assure 
you,  my  dear." 

207 


MAKING   OF   A   COUNTRY   HOME 

"  Oh,  well,  you  needn't  pull  at  me  as  if  I  was 
made  of  wood.  I  think  Kate  would  have  hys 
terics  if  she  should  come  in  now,  and  see  you 
treating  your  wife  as  if  she  were  a  bay-window  or 
a  work  bench.  Why  don't  you  go  gently  and 
hook  me  up  ?  " 

"  My  dear,  the  dress  will  not  meet.  It  doesn't 
fit  you.  Wouldn't  it  be  possible  to  travel  with 
out  its  being  hooked  ?  You'll  wear  something 
over  it,  of  course." 

"  What  nonsense.  All  it  needs  is  firmness  and 
gentleness." 

"  There  you  are.  I  should  think  it  would  cut 
you  in  two.  Where  are  your  heavy  shoes  ? " 

"I  never  wear  them  in  the  evening  —  you 
know  that  as  well  as  I  do.  They  are  in  the 
trunk  in  the  closet." 

John  got  them  out.  "  If  you  will  sit  down,  I 
will  lace  them  up  for  you.  The  idea  of  travel 
ling  in  such  a  thing  as  that,"  he  added,  as  he 
took  off  one  of  her  little  slippers  and  held  it  up, 
not  without  a  passing  admiration. 

"  I  never  travelled  in  them,"  said  Lucy,  "  but 
I  suppose  I  should  have  to  if  I  depended  on  you 
to  lace  up  my  shoes  for  me.  Don't  you  see  that 
I  cannot  lace  my  own  shoes  as  nimbly  as  I  once 
did  ?  You  never  will  realize  that  I  am  getting 
old,  will  you  ?  " 

"  I  have  laced  one  of  them,"  said  John. 

"Well,  I  never  knew  it  —  it  wobbles  so. 
What  do  you  suppose  Kate  will  say  if  she  sees 
me  with  these  shoes  on  at  this  time  of  night  ? 

208 


RECOMPENSE 

What  a  blessing  it  is,  John,  that  we  do  not 
have  men  maid-servants.  They  would  have 
everything  as  loose  as  they  are  themselves.  I 
suppose  you  showed  the  telegram  to  mother,  and 
she  will  not  sleep  a  wink  till  1  get  back." 

"  She  wasn't  half  as  much  worried  as  I  was. 
You  see,  she  has  known  you  longer.  Do  these 
things  go  in  your  trunk  ?  " 

"  No ;  everything  of  mine  is  in  the  trunk. 
You  do  not  suppose  that  I  can  travel  with  my 
hair  in  this  condition  ?  Suppose  I  should  faint 
on  the  train." 

"  And  no  Holcomb  about,"  said  John.  "  Well, 
that  would  be  tedious.  But  I'll  promise  not  to 
throw  any  cold  water  on  you  till  you  get  home. 
Where's  your  hat  ?  " 

He  looked  at  his  watch.  "We've  got  half  an 
hour,"  he  said;  "just  time  to  faint  before  we 
start." 

"  Then  I'd  have  to  be  all  unhooked  again. 
You  see,  men  have  no  practical  sense  of  details." 

"  I  have.  Are  these  things  to  go  into  your 
satchel  ? " 

"  No,  goose.     My  satchel  is  all  packed." 

"  For  the  seashore,  I  suppose." 

"  No,"  said  Lucy.  "  I  packed  it  so  as  to  go 
home  with  you  when  you  came.  I  suppose  you 
thought  that  you  were  doing  this  thing,  dear,  all 
by  your  manly  self,  didn't  you  ?  " 

Half  an  hour  later  they  had  slipped  quietly 
away,  without  disturbing  the  revelry  in  the 
dining-room,  Kate  alone  saying  good-by  with 

209 


MAKING   OF   A   COUNTRY   HOME 

an  unmistakable  air  of  commiseration,  and,  Lucy 
thought,  with  just  the  least  bit  of  relief. 

There  was  something  novel  and  piquant  in  the 
night  journey,  removed  as  it  was  from  the  rush 
and  roar  of  the  day's  work.  Even  the  prosaic 
sail  on  the  late  ferry-boat  was  unexpectedly  de 
lightful,  unaccompanied  as  it  was  by  the  com 
merce  and  clash  of  the  earlier  hours.  The  river 
was  moonlit,  and  the  city,  with  its  halo  of  artificial 
lights,  seemed  to  be  sinking  away  behind  them  as 
they  drifted  out  into  the  cool,  inviting  night. 
There  were  very  few  passengers  on  the  late  train, 
and  those  that  were,  together  with  the  conductor 
and  trainmen,  wore  a  new  aspect  of  pleasant 
ness  and  amiability,  as  if  at  that  hour  it  was  not 
necessary  to  keep  up  the  official  hardness  of  the 
day.  Sitting  at  the  open  window,  with  the  fra 
grant  night  air  laving  her  as  if  she  were  in  a  bath, 
Lucy  gave  way  to  a  luxurious  fantasy.  The 
lights  of  the  stations  came  regularly  and  softly 
out  of  the  shadows  in  a  dreamful  dance.  The 
vistas  of  moonlit  pastures  and  dewy  uplands, 
with  glimpses  of  silvery  reposeful  waters,  lit 
here  and  there  with  twinkling  lights  —  all  seemed 
to  be  very  far  away  from  Holcomb  and  his 
music. 

"  How  dreamful  and  eerie  it  all  is,"  said  Lucy. 
"  If  I  must  travel,  I  shall  always  want  to  travel  at 
night,  when  all  the  disturbing  people  have  gone 
away.  There  is  some  kind  of  fascination  in  plung 
ing  through  the  night  when  one  leaves  the  world 
behind." 

210 


RECOMPENSE 

"  Yes,"  said  John,  "  I  suppose  most  women  do 
like  to  plunge  a  little  at  night." 

"  Oh,  but  they  get  over  it,  John.  They  have 
to,  if  they  get  husbands  who  lace  them  up  — 
though  I  must  say  they  do  it  very  feebly.  Do 
you  know  it's  real  jolly  to  have  a  big,  solemn 
husband  who  is  a  retriever,  and  knows  how  to 
bring  things  home  ?  " 

"  But,  my  dear,  the  jollity  of  it  consists  in  hav 
ing  a  home  to  which  you  can  bring  things.  Though 
I  suppose  some  kind  of  things  would  come  back 
of  their  own  accord  when  they  got  tired." 

"  It's  very  good  of  you  to  think  that,  and  yet, 
I  suppose  most  of  us  would  prefer  to  have  a  big, 
hulking  husband  bring  us  back.  Gracious,  we 
must  be  running  through  a  garden  —  do  you  smell 
the  pinks  ? " 

"  And  you  really  were  getting  tired  of  it,  were 
you  not  ?  "  said  John. 

"  I'll  tell  you  all  about  it  when  I  get  my  things 
off.  Is  this  our  station?" 

"Yes,  and  there's  Mart  waiting  for  us  with  a  rig." 

When  they  arrived  at  the  house  it  was  nearly 
midnight.  The  moon  hung  low  in  the  west,  and 
the  old  stone  structure  was  outlined  clearly  and 
somewhat  imposingly  against  the  sky,  as  Lucy 
stopped  at  the  gate  a  moment  and  surveyed  its 
new  outlines.  A  feeble  light  was  glimmering  in 
one  of  the  windows,  and  a  whip-poor-will  was 
calling  shrilly  somewhere. 

"  It  doesn't  look  like  the  same  house,  John," 
she  said. 

211 


MAKING   OF   A   COUNTRY   HOME 

"It  isn't  —  now  that  you've  come  back.  I 
guess  you  are  not  the  same  woman  ;  that's  it." 

John  was  looking  with  admiration  at  his  im 
proved  edifice  that  seemed  to  rise  up  with  unex 
pected  dignity  out  of  the  dusks,  and  he  wanted  to 
explain  it,  but  Lucy  cut  him  short  by  saying :  "  I 
wonder  if  we  can  get  anything  to  eat.  I'm  awfully 
hungry." 

"Sure,"  replied  John,  with  proprietary  confi 
dence.  "  We'll  slip  in  without  disturbing  any 
body,  and  while  you  are  taking  your  things  off 
I'll  rummage.  I  never  knew  a  sick  woman  to 
have  such  an  appetite." 

"  It  is  strange,"  said  Lucy.  "  I  wonder  if  Tilka 
keeps  the  milk  cool." 

And  then,  like  two  truants,  they  stole  into  their 
own  abode  stealthily,  with  much  suppressed  enjoy 
ment  at  their  precaution,  and  John,  with  a  lamp 
in  his  hand,  went  softly  into  the  cellar  to  recon 
noitre,  while  his  wife  unloosened  in  the  new  bay. 
When  she  came  tiptoeing  in  search  of  him,  she 
heard  him  bumping  around  under  the  flooring, 
and  had  to  go  to  the  cellar  stairway  and  call  down 
in  a  stage  whisper  :  — 

"  Shall  I  come  down  and  help  you  ?  " 

"  No,"  came  the  voice  of  John  from  beneath ; 
"  if  you  are  unloosed,  sit  down,  and  don't  make 
a  noise,  or  we'll  have  the  whole  family  on  us. 
There's  cold  milk  and  cider,  and  —  how  would 
you  like  one  of  Tilka's  cold  bottles  of  beer  ? " 

"  Oh,  John,"  said  Lucy,  "  if  you  only  would." 

"  All  right.     There's  a  pan  of  mushrooms,  and 

212 


RECOMPENSE 

pot-cheese,  and  cold  corned-beef,  and  apple  pie, 
and  —  Jerusalem  —  " 

"  What's  the  matter  ? " 

"  There's  the  tray  of  cold  chicken."     Crash. 

"  Oh,  heavens,"  said  Lucy,  "  what  have  you 
done  ? " 

"  I've  upset  the  mushrooms.  Most  of  them 
have  gone  into  the  pan  of  milk." 

"  Mercy,  you  haven't  broken  the  beer  bottle  ?  " 

"  No,  that  is  safe.  You'll  have  to  come  down 
and  carry  the  light  for  me." 

When  they  were  coming  up  the  cellar  stairway 
single  file,  and  acting  altogether  like  burglars, 
Lucy  had  to  sit  down  on  the  step  and  relieve  her 
self  by  a  good  laugh. 

"  It's  such  fun,"  she  said,  "  to  steal  your  own 
things.  If  mother  should  see  us,  what  would  she 
think?" 

"  Mother  is  all  right,"  said  John,  "  and  if  you 
do  not  want  Tilka  to  catch  us,  you  will  have  to 
hurry.  She'll  be  stirring  at  daybreak." 

When  they  were  seated  at  the  table,  Lucy 
thought  it  was  nicer  than  the  Waldorf. 

"Of  course  it  is,"  said  John.  "You  can't  un 
hook  yourself  at  the  Waldorf,  and,  besides,  you 
have  to  tip  the  waiter." 

"  Oh,  we  can  tip  the  waiter,"  said  Lucy  ;  "  that's 
easy,  and  we  might  as  well  keep  up  the  custom." 
Whereupon  she  gave  John  a  kiss,  and  then  re 
marked,  "  Now  do  open  the  beer  before  you  do 
anything  else." 

John  made  a  great  flourish  in  the  operation, 
213 


MAKING  OF  A   COUNTRY   HOME 

but  he  was  regarding  his  wife  with  occasional 
curious  side  glances.  Something  in  her  manner 
baffled  him  a  little.  He  had  never  before  known 
her  to  drink  beer,  although  he  had  often  placed 
it  before  her  and  assured  her  it  would  do  her  good. 
Nor  had  she  ever  been  inclined  at  all  to  exult  in 
late  hours  as  she  was  now  doing.  He  did  not 
quite  see  why  an  invalid,  who,  according  to  her 
own  account,  was  liable  to  faint  at  any  moment, 
should  exhibit  such  a  nocturnal  appetite  and  show 
such  a  disposition  to  defy  the  conventional.  Never 
theless  she  was  eating  a  slice  of  bread  and  chicken 
quite  voraciously,  and  drank  off  the  beer  like  a 
veteran.  There  was  no  use  denying  that  it  had 
a  robust  charm  that  was  unusual,  and  as  she  saw 
him  regarding  her  with  a  little  wonder,  she  said  :  — 

"  I  suppose  you  think  I  am  quite  reckless." 

"  I  was  trying/*  replied  John,  "  to  reconcile  it 
with  the  telegram." 

"  It  must  be  Bohemianism,  John,"  said  Lucy> 
"  and  I  suppose  a  Bohemian  can  have  spells,  can't 
he  ?  You  have  no  idea  how  it  broadens  and  lib 
eralizes  a  woman  to  go  out  into  the  world  and  see 
how  other  people  do  it." 

"Yes,  I  have,"  said  John,  rather  solemnly. 
"  You  must  have  seen  a  great  deal  of  the  world  in 
a  week  or  two." 

"  Quite  enough,  John.  They  scared  me  a  little 
when  I  came  to  understand  it,  and  as  I  couldn't  be  a 
Bohemian  in  their  style,  I  felt  that  when  I  got  back 
here  it  would  be  quite  safe  with  you  around  to 
break  out  a  little.  You  are  not  sleepy,  are  you  ?  " 

214 


RECOMPENSE 

"  Not  a  bit." 

"  Then  let  me  tell  you.  Wes  is  so  unlike  you, 
John.  You  know  what  I  mean.  In  the  first  place, 
he's  handsome.  Oh,  there's  no  use  in  our  deny 
ing  that.  He  wears  a  dress  coat  as  if  he  was  born 
in  it.  Of  course  it's  absurd  to  speak  of  a  man 
being  born  in  a  dress  coat,  but  Kate  always  in 
sists  that  he  was  born  in  society,  which  is  pretty 
much  the  same  thing.  You  can't  help  admiring 
a  man,  John,  who  looks  so  well  in  a  dress  coat 
that  he  hardly  ever  takes  it  off,  except  in  a 
bath-room  after  he  has  locked  the  door.  Are 
you  interested?" 

"  Yes ;  take  some  more  of  the  chicken  and  go 


on." 


"  It  makes  a  man  so  superior  to  the  drudgery 
of  thinking.  Kate  says  that  he  is  a  young  Napo 
leon,  and  her  idea  of  a  young  Napoleon  is  a  man 
who  makes  everybody  else  do  the  walking.  He 
doesn't  have  to  worry  or  drudge  or  pay  bills." 

"  How  does  he  manage  it  ?  " 

"  Well,  it's  the  most  extraordinary  thing  in  the 
world  —  he  lets  the  other  fellow  pay  them.  Kate 
says  it  would  interfere  with  the  gayety  if  he  paid 
them.  Can  you  understand  that  ?  " 

"  Clearly  nothing  can  be  plainer.  But  when 
a  man  and  wife  go  into  that  kind  of  partnership  it 
is  always  marked  c  Limited.' ' 

"  The  furniture  in  that  house,  John,  cost  three 
thousand  dollars.  It  was  to  be  paid  for  by  the 
month,  and  Cramp  managed  it.  Just  before  I 
came  up  the  collector  came,  and  it  seems  there 

215 


MAKING  OF  A   COUNTRY   HOME 

hadn't  been  anything  paid.  Kate  was  quite  con 
fidential  with  me,  and  told  me  what  Cramp  said. 
c  Oh,  let  them  take  the  furniture  back/  said  he ; 
c  youVe  had  the  use  of  it,  and  now  you're  going 
to  Long  Branch.  You  can  always  get  a  fresh 
supply  when  you  come  back/  Now  I  call  that 
gay,  John,  but  —  what  I  wanted  to  tell  you  was 
that  Kate  and  I  fell  out  —  and  that  was  the  rea 
son  why  she  sent  the  telegram.  Holcomb  brought 
a  comic-opera  singer  one  night,  and  Kate  said  that 
I  wasn't  to  mind  if  she  smoked  cigarettes  after  she 
sang,  because  it  was  the  custom,  and  cigarettes 
burned  away  foolish  barriers.  Oh,  Kate  can  say 
clever  things  when  she  is  in  full  dress." 

"  And  you  helped  to  burn  away  the  barriers 
because  it  was  clever  ?  " 

"  No,  I  didn't." 

"  Didn't  you  learn  to  drink  beer  ?  " 

cc  Beer  ?  I  never  saw  it  in  the  house.  It  was 
champagne  twice  a  day.  Kate  takes  a  champagne 
cocktail  before  breakfast.  c  What's  a  pint  bottle 
among  one  ? '  said  she.  '  Besides,  it  clears  the 
complexion/  Beer,  indeed !  Let  me  see  — 
where  was  I  ?  Oh,  yes :  Kate  and  I  fell  out. 
It's  too  ridiculous,  but  I  think  we  really  hate 
each  other  in  the  bottom  of  our  hearts.  You 
never  could  guess  what  caused  it." 

"  Why,  the  champagne  and  cigarette ;  they  al 
ways  do,  or  perhaps  it  was  Holcomb." 

"  Oh,  you  might  as  well  give  it  up.  I  got  sick 
—  seriously  sick,  John  —  and  it  made  Kate  indig 
nant.  She  said  it  shocked  her." 

216 


RECOMPENSE 

"  Well,  you  probably  informed  her  of  it  by  tele 
gram  as  you  did  me." 

"  No  ;  I  told  her  confidentially." 

"  Well,"  said  John,  "  I  was  informed  confiden 
tially  myself,  and  she  couldn't  be  more  shocked 
than  I  was.  I  was  that  upset  by  the  telegram 
that  I  must  have  acted  foolishly.  I  thought  of 
course  you  must  be  dying.  Your  mother  stood 
over  there  by  the  door.  She  was  looking  for 
Medusa  when  I  read  the  telegram  to  her,  and  I 
said,  '  Well,  mother,  I  suppose  we  must  make  up 
our  minds  that  there  is  to  be  one  less  of  our 
happy  little  group/ ' 

Lucy,  who  had  her  elbows  on  the  table,  let  her 
head  drop  between  her  hands  and  gurgled  a  little 
as  she  said  :  "  Yes,  that's  just  like  you,  John,  and 
I  know  exactly  what  mother  said  in  reply.  She 
turned  and  looked  at  you  over  her  spectacles,  you 
stupid  old  goose,  and  said :  c  One  less  ?  Oh,  I 
guess  not;  more  likely  to  be  one  more/ '" 

John  was  staring  at  Lucy  with  a  mixed  expres 
sion  of  surprise  and  tenderness.  "  No,"  he  said ; 
"  she  didn't  say  that." 

"Well,  then  it  was  because  she  thought  it  was 
superfluous." 

It  was  two  o'clock  in  the  morning  when  this 
platitudinous  pair  of  ordinary  persons  exhausted 
themselves  and  retired,  each  promising  the  other 
that,  as  it  was  c  Liberty  Hall,'  no  one  could  inter 
fere  with  the  morning  sleep.  And  yet,  such  is 
the  crassness  of  human  nature  in  ordinary  persons 
that  Lucy  was  up  at  eight  o'clock  looking  through 

217 


MAKING   OF   A   COUNTRY   HOME 

the  vines  at  the  glory  of  the  morning,  and  saying 
to  herself,  "  I  kept  John  up  so  late,  I'll  not  dis 
turb  him  for  an  hour  or  two ; "  and  there  was 
John  out  under  the  trees  with  Harold,  saying  to 
himself,  "  The  poor  girl  was  up  so  late,  we  mustn't 
disturb  her,  my  boy,  for  two  hours." 

When  they  came  to  breakfast  Tilka  announced 
in  one  of  her  privileged  asides :  "  I  think  we 
make  some  disturbances  in  the  cellar  when  it  was 
last  night.  Gott  in  Himmel,  I  must  that  skim 
the  mushrooms  off  the  milk  be'Ve  I  can  the 
cream  take  up." 

That  Sabbath  morning  was  never  quite  forgot 
ten  by  John  and  Lucy.  There  were  many  other 
Sabbath  mornings  just  as  calm  and  brilliant,  but 
they  were  reminders,  not  surprises.  John  walked 
down  to  the  meadow  with  his  arm  about  his  wife. 
They  looked  from  the  kitchen  window,  as  if  they 
were  giving  an  extra  artistic  touch  to  the  landscape, 
so  that  Tilka  said  to  herself  as  she  looked  out : 
"  I  guess  they  make  some  love-talk^in  the  garden." 

They  sat  down  under  the  trees,  John  showing 
a  reticent  tenderness  and  solicitude  in  little  actions 
that  Lucy  seemed  to  invite.  The  still  air  carried 
the  vibration  of  a  distant  church  bell.  The  white 
clouds  sailed  over  lazily,  like  argosies  of  snow  on 
oceans  of  blue.  The  gurgle  of  the  waters  was 
muted  into  a  mellow  chant.  The  steady  breath 
of  the  western  breeze  stirred  the  autumnal  foliage 
into  a  long-drawn  sigh,  and  there  in  the  cloister 
of  the  woods,  I  dare  say,  Lucy  regarded  her  hus 
band  for  the  time  being  as  a  father  confessor. 

218 


RECOMPENSE 

"  I  think,"  she  said,  "  it  would  be  better  to  have 
life  all  Sundays  than  all  hey-days.  I  could  almost 
preach  a  sermon  this  morning  with  the  atmosphere 
for  a  text." 

"  Let  the  atmosphere  preach  it,"  said  John,  with 
much  consideration. 

"  Yes,"  said  Lucy ;  "  I  suppose  we  are  in  the 
choir,  not  in  the  pulpit." 

"  It's  a  long  time  ago,  my  dear,"  said  John, 
"  but  do  you  remember  Herbert's  lines  that  you 
quoted  to  me  on  the  Holyoke  hills  one  morning 
when  you  wore  blue  ribbons  ?  " 

"  Indeed,  I  do,"  said  Lucy. 

"  «  O  day  most  calm,  most  bright, 

The  fruit  of  this,  the  next  world's  bud.' 

There  you  are." 

"  And  is  it  just  as  bright  now  ?  " 

"  Brighter,"  said  Lucy. 

"  But  it  sounds  a  little  like  the  tone  of  that 
far-away  bell,  doesn't  it  ?  " 

"  No,  it  doesn't.  It  sounds  very  practical  and 
near  by.  What  a  lot  you  have  done.  How  sur 
prised  Sprague  will  be  when  he  sees  the  house." 

"Why,  he  and  May  Braddock  drive  up  twice 
a  week  to  look  at  it.  They  have  watched  every 
nail  that  was  driven.  I  think  they  intend  to 
build,  themselves." 

"  You  don't  say  so.  I  suppose  May  Braddock 
wants  a  place  to  store  her  old  furniture  in." 

"  Sprague  asked  me  the  other  day  what  I  would 
take  for  the  place  as  it  stands." 

219 


MAKING   OF   A   COUNTRY   HOME 

"  I  like  his  impudence,"  said  Lucy.  "  What 
did  you  tell  him  ?  " 

"  I  told  him  I  would  consult  you.  We  could 
get  a  good  advance  on  the  property  now,  and  then 
we  could  take  a  high-stoop  house  in  the  city.  I 
thought  I'd  speak  to  you  about  it." 

"  I  guess  they  can  build  their  own  house. 
May  Braddock  needn't  think  she  can  step  into 
my  bay  and  put  her  old  lumber  in  my  bedroom 
and  dig  up  all  my  flowers  and  pull  down  my 
vines.  What  have  I  been  working  for,  I  should 
like  to  know  ?  " 

"  I  told  her  that  I  didn't  think  you  would  like 
to  see  all  your  work  go  into  the  hands  of  some 
body  else." 

"  I  should  think  not.  There  isn't  another 
house  in  the  county  with  a  bay  like  that,  John, 
and  when  a  woman  realizes  her  ideal,  it  makes 
her  weary  to  have  somebody  come  along  and  ask 
what  she'll  take  for  it.  Why,  I  intend  it  for  a 
conservatory.  You  wait  till  you  see  my  flowers 
in  it  and  the  fireplace  fixed.  That  reminds  me, 
John ;  I've  got  a  picture  of  a  fireplace  I  want  to 
show  you.  I  cut  it  out  of  one  of  the  illustrated 
papers.  It's  too  lovely  for  anything.  Have  you 
thought  much  about  the  fireplace,  John  ?  You 
know  everything  depends  on  a  colonial  fireplace 
in  a  house  like  ours;  a  tiled  hearth — glazed  tiles, 
you  know  —  they  shine  so  when  there's  a  wood 
fire,  and  shine  is  absolutely  necessary  on  a  bleak 
night,  especially  when  there  are  no  bright  people 
present;  and  brass  tongs  and  shovel  —  what  do 

220 


RECOMPENSE 

they  have  a  shovel  for,  John  ?  You  can't  shovel 
the  wood." 

"  Oh,  it's  to  shovel  the  cinders  back  off  the 
rug  when  the  night  is  bleak,"  said  John,  laughing. 

"  Then  there's  a  broad  mantel  high  up,  so  high 
you  have  to  stand  on  a  chair  to  reach  it ;  and  there 
must  be  two  guns  crossed  over  it  —  old  guns  — 
and  some  nice  chipped  willow-ware  platters  set  out, 
and  a  crane.  When  we  hang  the  crane,  John  — 
have  you  thought  about  hanging  the  crane  ?  It's 
really  important,  my  dear  ;  it  must  have  an  old 
black  iron  tea-kettle  with  a  hinged  lid  that  jumps 
up  and  down  while  you  are  talking.  Suppose 
we  go  up  to  the  house.  I  want  to  show  you  how 
I've  planned  it." 


221 


CHAPTER   XI 

WINTER'S  WARNINGS  AND  DISCOMFORTS 

THE  season  was  going.  Presently  it  would 
be  winter.  "  Winter  up  here,"  Lucy  said, 
as  she  stood  upon  her  terrace  on  a  bright 
autumn  morning,  with  the  wind  softly  rustling 
her  dress  and  the  panorama  of  change  spreading 
itself  out  in  russets  and  duns.  In  her  mind 
she  saw  the  fields  buried  in  drifts,  and  the  house 
banked  up  with  snow.  The  world  of  human 
contact  would  be  cut  off.  She  hesitated  a  mo 
ment —  she  could  hear  the  hammer  of  Mr.  Rida- 
bok,  who  was  tinkering  away,  laying  the  flooring 
of  the  front  porch.  Mart,  who  had  been  to  the 
depot  with  John,  drove  in  as  she  stood  there. 
She  called  to  him  a  little  impatiently. 

"  I  want  you  to  help  me  fix  the  fireplace  this 
morning." 

He  pulled  up  his  horse  and  thought  a  moment. 
"  The  potatoes,"  he  said,  "  I  hev  to  get  'em  in." 

222 


WINTER'S   WARNINGS 

"  Potatoes  ?  "  she  repeated.  "  Must  they  come 
in?" 

"  Well,  it  would  be  a  pity  to  lose  'em  —  they're 
so  fine.  There's  six  barrels  of  'em." 

After  a  few  more  words  with  him  she  went  back 
to  the  house,  stopping  to  admire  the  bay  window 
as  usual,  and  coming  round  in  front,  where  Mr. 
Ridabok  was  driving  the  narrow  boards  of  the 
flooring  together  with  a  sledge.  She  was  about 
to  ask  him  if  he  couldn't  come  in  and  help  her 
with  the  fireplace,  when  the  dainty  aspect  of  the 
little  veranda  appealed  to  her,  and  she  exclaimed, 
"  Oh,  isn't  that  going  to  look  pretty  ! " 

Mr.  Ridabok,  who  did  not  stop  pounding, 
merely  said  :  "  Yes'm  —  that  will  look  quite  ship 
shape  when  it's  done.  But  it  ought  to  be  painted 
as  fast  as  I  lay  it.  Them  boards  will  spring  if 
they  get  wet." 

"  Can't  I  paint  them  ?  "  asked  Lucy.  "  Where's 
the  paint  ?  I  know  something  about  painting." 

Mr.  Ridabok  smiled.  "  I  wouldn't  start  in 
on  it  if  I  was  you.  There's  a  good  many  square 
feet,  and  it's  all  hard  rubbin'  on  your  hands  and 
knees  with  a  pound  brush." 

Lucy  then  went  around  to  the  kitchen  and 
found  her  mother  and  Tilka  so  busy  that  they 
hardly  had  time  to  talk  to  her. 

"  Can't  I  help  you  ?  "  she  said.  "  It  seems  to 
me  that  everybody  opposes  my  doing  anything." 

"  We  are  moving  the  things  out  of  the  store 
closet  into  the  cellar,"  said  her  mother.  "  I 
don't  think  they  will  keep  so  well  up  here." 

223 


MAKING   OF   A   COUNTRY   HOME 

"  Let  me  help  you." 

"  You  just  sit  down  and  let  Tilka  run  up  and 
down  stairs.  I  guess  we  are  pretty  much  through/ ' 

Instead  of  obeying  her  mother,  Lucy  picked 
up  the  candle  and  followed  Tilka,  who  had  her 
arms  full  of  jars,  down  the  cellar  stairs,  and  was 
presently  followed  by  the  old  lady  herself. 

There  were  three  hanging  shelves  in  the  cellar, 
and  they  presented  an  array  of  jars  and  bottles 
that  was  imposing,  and  to  which  Tilka  was  care 
fully  adding.  Lucy  looked  at  the  store  with 
wonder,  and  exclaimed :  "  Good  gracious,  what 
a  collection !  I  don't  believe  you  know  what 
you've  got." 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  do,"  replied  her  mother.  "  Hold 
the  candle."  And  she  began  to  read  from  her 
list:  "Three  dozen  tomatoes,  two  dozen  suc 
cotash,  one  dozen  string  beans,  one  dozen  sweet 
corn,  two  dozen  sweet  pickles,  two  dozen  cur 
rant  jelly,  one  dozen  blackberry  jam,  one  dozen 
tomato  catsup,  one  dozen  chow-chow,  two  dozen 
cherries " 

"  Oh,  stop,  mother." 

"  I  think  you  could  buy  them  not  so  good  at 
the  store,"  said  Tilka. 

"You  go  right  up  out  of  this  damp  cellar 
before  you  catch  your  death  of  cold,"  said  her 
mother. 

When  John  came  home  in  the  evening,  he 
brought  a  friend  with  him,  a  young  man  who 
carried  a  little  satchel  with  tools  in  it.  John 
said,  as  he  introduced  him  to  the  family,  that 

224 


WINTER'S  WARNINGS 

he  was  going  to  fix  the  fireplace  in  a  friendly 
way,  and  take  a  day  in  the  country.  But  when 
the  workman  came  to  look  at  the  fireplace,  he 
said  the  floor  would  have  to  come  up  first.  It 
had  to  have  new  headers  in,  and  he  must  work 
out  to  them,  so  that  the  carpenter  could  lay  the 
woodwork  up  to  the  tiling  and  put  a  sill  around 
the  hearth. 

This  meant  more  discouraging  ruction,  and 
sure  enough  the  next  morning  Mr.  Ridabok 
and  Mart  and  the  visitor  pushed  all  the  things 
out  of  the  room  and  went  to  work  with  crow 
bars,  ripping  up  the  old  plank,  and  knocking 
little  white  spots  in  the  wall  paper,  at  each  one 
of  which  Lucy  gave  a  little  gasp,  as  she  stared 
in  at  the  bay  window  upon  the  black  chasm  of 
the  cellar  and  felt  that  the  bottom  of  the  house 
had  fallen  out. 

But  she  watched  the  workman  afterwards  as  he 
worked  at  the  fireplace,  and  felt  that  there  was 
some  fascination  in  it.  She  saw  the  tiles  slip  into 
their  places,  and  the  hearth  and  fireplace  opening 
grow  into  decorative  beauty.  Even  the  dusky 
figures  of  her  mother  and  Tilka,  moving  about 
in  the  gloom  of  the  cellar,  covering  up  their  pre 
serve  jars  with  stout  paper,  did  not  draw  her 
attention  from  her  fireplace.  She  was  astonished 
at  the  ease  and  celerity  with  which  the  work  was 
accomplished,  and  when  at  last  they  permitted 
her  to  stand  upon  the  new  flooring,  it  was  a 
delight  to  move  about  on  it,  so  level  and  smooth 
and  firm  was  it. 

225 


MAKING   OF   A   COUNTRY   HOME 

Then  it  had  to  be  stained,  and  for  two  nights 
she  and  John  were  down  on  their  knees  with  a  pot 
of  varnish  and  a  kerosene  lamp,  making  play  of 
the  work.  It  looked  very  fine  when  it  was  done. 

"It  just  matches  the  brickwork,  doesn't  it?" 
said  Lucy. 

"  Do  you  know  what  the  painter  would  have 
charged  me  to  do  it  ?  Eleven  dollars  he  wanted. 
Do  you  know  what  it  cost  us  ?  Just  one  dollar 
and  forty  cents,  and  it  looks  like  mahogany." 

"  Oh,  there  was  never  any  mahogany  in  the 
world  as  handsome  as  that.  But  I've  got  it  all 
over  my  white  dress." 

Mother  and  Tilka  looked  at  it  when  the  furni 
ture  was  moved  in  again,  and  decided  vital  points 
at  issue,  such  as,  would  the  big  easy  chair  look 
better  in  the  corner  or  set  in  the  middle  of  the 
room,  and  how  would  the  couch  look'  set  askew. 

It  was  mother's  privilege  to  modify  the  enthu 
siasm  a  little  with  her  grave  experience.  "  Fire 
places,"  said  she,  "  have  got  to  be  part  of  the 
furniture  nowadays.  When  I  was  a  girl,  they 
had  to  heat  the  house,  and  when  they  did,  people 
didn't  have  such  bay  windows  as  that  to  let  in 
the  cold." 

"  Oh,"  said  Lucy,  clapping  her  hands,  "  now  I 
know,  John,  why  they  never  built  bay  windows 
in  Massachusetts  in  old  times." 

"Yes,"  continued  mother,  "when  we  sot  round 
a  fireplace  like  that,  we  always  wore  our  shawls  to 
keep  our  backs  warm.  I  guess  if  we'd  had  bay 
windows  like  that,  we'd  had  to  wear  our  furs." 

226 


WINTER'S  WARNINGS 

"  Oh,  that  was  before  you  had  double  sashes," 
said  John.  "Til  make  that  bay  as  tight  as  a 
drum." 

"  I  think,"  said  Tilka,  "  I  can  that  make  so  hot 
a  fire  in  there,  that  you  must  go  out  in  the  field 
for  cool." 

"Then,"  said  John,  "you  shall  make  a  hick 
ory  fire  on  Thanksgiving  Day.  We'll  get  Pop 
Swarthout  over  to  mull  some  cider,"  and  they 
all  looked  at  mother,  who,  with  the  irrelevancy 
of  age,  said  deliberately  :  — 

"  John,  what  do  you  suppose  became  of  our 
cat?" 

"  Oh,"  said  John,  with  lordly  indifference,  see 
ing  that  they  were  all  waiting  for  his  answer,  "  oh, 
the  cat  ?  Why  —  the  cat,  she  must  have  gone 
back  to  Mr.  Braddock's  when  the  birds  gave  out 
here.  I'll  tell  him  to  send  her  back." 

Thanksgiving  came  and  with  it  the  first  experi 
ence  of  social  life  in  the  new  conditions,  and  a 
fresh  knowledge  of  the  difficulties  that  beset  it. 
John  had  worked  unremittingly  in  his  front  gar 
den,  he  and  Mart  toiling  late  into  the  moonlight 
nights  to  get  their  lawns  seeded  and  rolled,  and 
he  began  to  feel  that  his  outdoor  work  was  fin 
ished  for  the  year.  Lucy  had  arranged  in  her 
mind  a  little  celebration.  It  was  to  be  glowing 
with  her  new  internal  domestic  comfort  against 
the  wintry  exterior.  The  fire  would  be  lit.  The 
brasses  and  tiles  would  shine  and  glisten.  Her 
friends  would  make  a  circle.  She  would  have 
music  and  jollity  and  congratulations.  John  de- 

227 


MAKING   OF   A   COUNTRY   HOME 

served  it,  and  it  should  be  a  good  deal  of  a  sur 
prise,  for  she  would  bloom  out  suddenly  as  the 
Lady  of  the  Manor  and  astonish  him  with  her 
good  cheer. 

John  meanwhile  had  confided  to  Mr.  Braddock 
his  dilemma  with  regard  to  the  cat,  and  Mr.  Brad- 
dock  had  kindly  consented  to  pull  him  out  by 
sending  up  a  sister  of  Medusa's  and  holding  his 
tongue. 

When  Thanksgiving  arrived  it  brought  with  it 
late  in  the  afternoon  the  Braddock  establishment, 
consisting  of  the  lawyer  himself,  May  Braddock, 
and  Sprague,  and,  to  the  astonishment  of  Lucy, 
Holcomb  bringing  up  the  rear  with  a  banjo.  In 
the  evening  they  were  joined  by  Pop  Swarthout 
and  his  wife.  Sprague  had  to  be  shown  every 
detail  of  the  improvements.  Lucy's  particularity 
was  tireless,  and  at  each  surprise  Sprague  exclaimed 
"  Lovely ! "  and  then  consulted  with  May  Brad- 
dock.  Finally  Lucy  said  as  she  surveyed  the 
5roup :  "  Now,  Tilka,  light  the  fire.  Where  is 
ohn  ? " 

Nobody  seemed  to  know  where  he  was  at  that 
moment,  and  Holcomb,  always  alert,  exclaimed, 
"  I'll  find  him."  He  discovered  the  host  in  the 
kitchen  looking  at  a  thermometer. 

"Holcomb,"  he  said  somewhat  solemnly,  "have 
they  lit  that  fire  ?  " 

"Your  girl  is  lighting  it  now,"  replied  Hol 
comb.  "  She  says  she  will  make  it  so  hot  as  you 
never  saw." 

"  I  suppose  she  will.  She's  a  determined  girl, 
228 


WINTER'S   WARNINGS 

Holcomb,  and  the  thermometer  is  sixty-five  out 
doors.  You  see  we  made  our  arrangements  for  a 
cold  night.  I'm  afraid  there's  such  a  thing  as 
overdoing  it,  when  one  sets  out  to  make  it  warm 
for  his  friends.  Lucy  has  set  her  mind  on  hot 
mulled  cider.  Think  of  that,  my  boy.  And  old 
Pop  Swarthout  will  have  to  stand  over  that 
hickory  blaze." 

"  Well,  come  on  in.  I  can  sing  my  new  song 
before  the  flames  overtake  us.  It's  a  Jim-dandy, 
and  I'll  defy  anybody  that  isn't  a  Dutchman  to 
tell  what  it's  about.  That's  the  beauty  of  it." 

Lucy  and  John  many  times  after  recalled  that 
Thanksgiving  evening,  and  recounted  it  to  them 
selves  with  tears  of  mirth.  But  at  the  time  it  was 
anything  but  laughable.  Tilka  succeeded  in  get 
ting  the  temperature  up  nearly  to  a  hundred,  and 
as  Pop  Swarthout  had  taken  his  coat  off*,  Holcomb 
asked  permission  to  follow  suit  before  he  sat  down 
to  the  piano.  Sprague  suggested  with  a  blush  as 
he  mopped  his  face,  that  it  might  be  a  good  idea 
to  open  one  of  the  windows,  and  John  said  to 
himself,  "  Great  heavens,  they  are  double  and 
screwed  in." 

Lucy  was  undaunted.  She  saw  her  hickory 
logs  blazing,  and  a  reflected  light  of  triumph 
danced  in  her  eyes.  "  It's  so  colonial,  isn't  it  ?  " 
she  said  to  Mr.  Braddock. 

"  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Braddock,  putting  his  hand 
over  his  mouth,  "  it  reminds  me  of  the  times  that 
tried  men's  souls." 

"  If  you  stand  back  here,  Pa,"  said  May  Brad- 
229 


MAKING   OF   A   COUNTRY   HOME 

dock,  <c  near  the  open  door,  you  will  not  suffer  so 
much." 

"  Shall  I  begin  ?  "  asked  Holcomb. 

"  Wait  a  moment,"  said  Lucy.  "  Ma  has  gone 
to  get  a  fan." 

"This  song,"  said  Holcomb  in  an  explanatory 
way,  as  he  mopped  his  face,  "  was  specially  pre 
pared  for  this  occasion,  and  I  call  it  c  The  Red, 
Red  Clover/  It  is  supposed  to  be  addressed  by 
a  girl,  who  is  in  love,  to  a  little  bird.  I  need  not 
tell  you  who  the  little  girl  is." 

And  then  Holcomb  began  to  sing:  — 

"  O,  sweet  little  bird 
I  have  often  heard 

That  to  lovers  you've  something  to  tell ; 
But  you  never  could  guess 
What  my  tongue  would  express 

As  you  flit  over  valley  and  dell. 

"  My  secret  is  this  — 
And  I  throw  you  a  kiss, 

My  beautiful  little  blue  gnome. 
Sail  round  and  sail  over 
The  red,  red  clover, 

For  Johnny  is  coming  home. 

"  O,  sweet  little  heart, 
As  you  flutter  and  start, 

I  will  tell  you  my  secret  to-day. 
Because  you  will  sing  it 
Wherever  you  wing  it, 

For  that  is  a  little  bird's  way. 

"  So  don't  you  forget, 
You  sweet  little  pet, 

As  you  skim  over  forest  and  foam. 

230 


WINTER'S   WARNINGS 

Sail  round  and  sail  over 
The  red,  red  clover, 

For  Johnny  is  coming  home. 

"  O,  dear  little  bird, 
Perhaps  you  have  heard 

Why  the  skies  are  so  blue  overhead  ? 
And  the  willow  trees  sing, 
By  the  bank  of  the  spring, 

When  the  blossoms  and  berries  are  red. 

"If  not,  you  shall  hear 
My  fluttering  dear, 

From  the  air  and  the  woods  and  the  foam. 
Sail  round  and  sail  over 
The  red,  red  clover, 

For  Johnny  is  coming  home." 

During  the  singing  of  this  song  Mr.  Braddock 
and  Pop  Swarthout  had  backed  out  into  the  ad 
joining  room,  as  if  gently  pushed  by  the  heat, 
and  John  found  them  there  in  comparative  com 
fort,  at  the  dining  table,  discussing  the  road  mas 
ters  and  roads,  with  that  indifference  to  the  passing 
trivialities  of  music  which  only  such  veterans  can 
command.  Thus  the  little  party  fell  apart  into  its 
natural  elements,  and  while  Lucy  and  May  Brad- 
dock,  with  the  assistance  of  Holcomb  and  Sprague, 
struggled  between  the  fireplace  and  the  piano  with 
might  and  main  to  preserve  the  soft  blandishments 
of  social  life,  Pop  Swarthout  and  Mr.  Braddock 
settled  easily  to  hard-pan. 

"  There's  more  fuss,"  said  the  former,  "  made 
about  the  roads  in  the  newspapers  and  in  the 
towns  than  there  is  any  need  for.  People  what 

231 


MAKING   OF   A   COUNTRY   HOME 

live  in  cities  want  everything  paved.  I  hear  they 
are  puttin'  square  stones  in  their  halls.  And  as 
fer  their  streets,  it  allers  seemed  to  me  that  they 
buried  everything  they  wanted  under  'em  and  was 
always  diggin'  it  out.  I  calculate  that  when  a  man 
gives  most  of  his  time  to  the  roads,  his  fields  is 
goin'  to  suffer." 

"  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Braddock,  as  he  looked  at 
John,  "the  fields  always  do.  The  farmers  take 
all  their  soil  off  the  fields  and  pile  it  on  the  roads. 
I  don't  see  why  they  don't  plant  their  potatoes  in 
the  highway  where  the  loam  is." 

"A  hard  road,"  said  Mr.  Swarthout,  "will  rack  a 
wagon  to  pieces  a  great  deal  quicker  nor  a  soft  one, 
and  I  guess  if  this  county  was  macadamized,  our 
horses  would  be  about  as  foot-sore  as  the  animals  in 
the  city.  A  little  mud  is  good  for  a  horse's  hoofs." 

Mr.  Braddock  looked  at  John.  "When  you 
are  in  Rome,  you  must  do  as  Romans  do,"  he 
said.  "  They  were  great  road  builders." 

It  was  very  plain  that  Mr.  Swarthout  was  be 
yond  the  reach  of  Mr.  Braddock's  irony.  He 
merely  said  :  "  I  d'know  nothin'  'bout  Rome,  but 
I've  been  drivin*  over  these  roads  sixty  odd  year, 
and  I  guess  I  ain't  much  the  worst  for  it.  The 
folks  who  come  up  here  with  new  ideas  never 
stay  long  enough  to  carry  'em  out." 

"  Perhaps  they  would  stay  longer  if  the  roads 
were  better,"  observed  John. 

"Yes,"  said  Pop,  with  the  true  bucolic  wit, 
"mebbe  that's  a  pretty  good  argyment  for  not 
makin'  'em  any  better." 

232 


WINTER'S   WARNINGS 

Mr.  Braddock  put  the  back  of  his  hand  to  his 
mouth  to  suppress  his  admiration  of  this  sally, 
and  said :  "  Men  from  the  city  lack  the  true  agri 
cultural  instinct,  and  generally  start  in  by  trying 
to  make  boulevards.  Our  road  system,  Mr. 
Dennison,  is  like  a  taste  for  buttermilk,  one  of 
our  youthful  acquirements.  You  see  we  turn  out 
once  a  year  with  our  teams  and  work  out  our  road 
taxes.  It's  quite  primitive  and  beautiful.  If  we 
let  the  roads  alone,  the  rains  would  wash  all  the 
soft  soil  off  and  leave  the  red  hardpan  smooth 
and  solid.  So  we  turn  in  and  pull  the  sod  down 
on  them  and  give  them  a  mulching  of  good  vege 
table  mud.  It  saves  wagons.  I've  always  no 
ticed  that  city  men,  who  like  to  have  pretty  much 
everything  soft,  curiously  enough  like  their  drinks 
and  their  roads  hard.  I  suppose  it's  the  result 
of  the  commercial  spirit." 

What  Pop  Swarthout  would  have  said  to  this 
is  not  known,  for  at  that  moment  Lucy  appeared 
at  the  door  with  a  red  face,  fanning  herself  with 
a  sheet  of  music. 

"  Where  do  you  suppose  Ma  and  Mrs.  Swart 
hout  are  ? "  she  asked,  trying  to  look  a  little 
anxious. 

Mr.  Braddock's  hand  went  up  to  his  mouth. 

"  They're  not  upstairs,"  continued  Lucy.  "  I've 
looked  everywhere.  They  couldn't  have  gone 
up  the  stairs." 

"  Did  you  look  up  the  chimney  ? "  asked  Mr. 
Braddock. 

Lucy  rushed  to  the  open  door  and  looked  out 

233 


MAKING   OF   A   COUNTRY   HOME 

into  the  starlit  night.  "  Ma,"  she  called,  ad 
dressing  the  outdoors  generally,  "you  will  catch 
your  death  of  cold.  What  are  you  thinking 
about  ?  " 

Then  she  listened.  "  I  hear  them,"  she  said 
excitedly.  "  Heavens,  they  are  in  the  cellar," 
and  Holcomb,  who  was  looking  on  from  the  sit 
ting-room,  exclaimed  :  "  Happy  thought.  Let's 
all  go  in  the  cellar." 

Lucy  snatched  up  a  lamp,  and  followed  by  the 
nimble  Holcomb,  went  carefully  down  the  narrow 
stairway,  and  when  halfway  down  she  saw  her 
mother  and  Mrs.  Swarthout  standing  before  the 
store  of  preserves  and  pickles,  spectacled,  and 
with  their  heads  close  together  in  what  was  very 
much  like  an  attitude  of  silent  adoration. 

A  sudden  sense  of  the  incongruity  of  her  social 
elements  made  her  sit  down  helplessly  on  the 
bottom  step,  and  give  way  to  a  little  hysterical 
gulp  as  she  hid  her  face  in  her  hands.  Holcomb, 
who  was  behind  her,  immediately  imitated  her, 
saying :  "  Now  this  is  fine.  Wait  till  I  bring  the 
rest  of  them  down." 

But  Lucy  ignored  him  entirely,  and  succeeded 
in  rescuing  the  two  old  ladies.  When  they  re 
turned  to  the  floor  above,  they  encountered  an 
unusual  scene.  Tilka  and  Mart  were  issuing 
from  the  sitting-room  carrying  between  them,  on 
a  spade  and  a  pitchfork,  one  of  the  blazing  and 
sputtering  logs  from  the  new  fireplace.  It  poured 
forth  volumes  of  protesting  smoke  as  it  passed 
ignominiously  to  the  back  door  to  be  cast  forth, 

234 


WINTER'S   WARNINGS 

Tilka  exclaiming  with  reassuring  triumph,  "  I  fix 
him,  I  fix  him." 

But  the  fireplace  having  at  last  been  suppressed, 
things  fell  into  a  more  comfortable  shape,  and 
Lucy's  excitement  went  off  into  a  milder  path  as 
she  spread  out  a  repast  for  her  guests,  and  re 
solved  to  let  the  chasms  between  them  bridge 
themselves  as  best  they  might  over  the  hospitable 
board.  As  she  looked  in  upon  them  from  the 
kitchen,  where  she  was  assisting  Tilka  and  saw 
them  separated  in  couples,  she  wished  that  she 
had  some  kind  of  convivial  and  allowable  beverage 
to  melt  them  together. 

While  she  stood  there  Mr.  Braddock  came 
softly  into  the  kitchen,  closing  the  door  behind 
him  and  looking  as  if  he  had  something  like  sym 
pathy  to  impart.  "  Mrs.  Dennison,"  he  said  in 
a  soft  voice,  using  the  back  of  his  hand  to  mod 
erate  his  good  intentions,  "  I  was  going  to  suggest 
to  you,  as  I  know  the  customs  of  the  country 
better  than  you  do,  that  the  proper  thing  to  do 
would  be  to  bring  in  a  stone  fence." 

She  looked  up  at  him  with  all  her  old  doubts 
of  his  sanity  returning. 

"  Mr.  Braddock,"  she  said,  "you  go  right  back 
in  the  other  room  and  talk  to  John.  I'll  attend 
to  the  supper."  * 

"  Just  so,"  replied  Mr.   Braddock.      "  I   only 

1  It  may  be  well  to  say  for  the  benefit  of  benighted  city  folks  that  a  "  stone 
fence  "  in  the  vernacular  of  Rockland  County  and  New  Jersey,  stands  for  a 
home-made  beverage  which  owes  its  local  peculiarity  to  the  fact  that  applejack 
is  poured  into  cider,  making  a  rustic  shandygaff  that  to  the  rural  imagination 
recalls  the  hardness  of  a  prehistoric  pile  of  rocks. 

235 


MAKING   OF  A   COUNTRY   HOME 

wanted  to  offer  a  suggestion.  It  seemed  to  me 
that  as  you  began  the  evening  with  the  £  Red, 
Red  Clover/  you  might  appropriately  close  it  in 
with  a  stone  fence.  Of  course  I  refer  to  the  prep 
aration  of  the  cider.  If  you  will  let  me  fix  it,  I 
think  I  can  add  to  the  merrymaking." 

"Oh,"  said  Lucy,  "if  you  will  fix  the  cider  I 
shall  be  very  glad." 

"  I  see  you  have  a  bottle  of  applejack  on  the 
shelf,  doubtless  from  Mr.  Swarthout's  cellar.  If 
you  will  give  me  a  large  bowl  and  some  sugar — " 

"You  will  make  a  punch.  How  clever  of 
you." 

"Just  the  ordinary  stone  fence.  A  stone  fence 
bears  the  same  relation  to  rural  festivities  that  the 
bean  bag  does  to  religion." 

Lucy  looked  at  him  sidewise  as  she  held  the 
bowl  out  at  arm's  length.  "  Yes,"  she  said,  as 
one  humours  a  maniac.  "  Of  course,  religion  and 
bean  bags  —  why,  certainly." 

"  Perhaps  I  do  not  make  myself  quite  plain," 
said  Mr.  Braddock.  "The  bean  bag  takes  the 
hard  edge  off  religious  acerbity.  The  elders  of 
our  church  and  the  Mothers  of  Israel  meet  once  a 
week  and  throw  it,  thankfully.  It  is  quite  human 
izing  with  jelly  cake.  Where  have  you  the  cider? 
Ah,  yes,  in  the  cellar  of  course." 

The  repast  offered  many  surprises  to  Lucy. 
The  old  folks  looked  at  it  askance.  A  Welsh 
rabbit  was  not  unlike  a  new  order  of  exterminat 
ing  bug  come  into  the  pasture,  and  the  avidity 
with  which  the  young  persons  disposed  of  it  drew 

236 


WINTER'S   WARNINGS 

from  Mr.  Swarthout  the  remark  that  it  would 
make  a  very  good  noonin'  meal,  but  at  that  time 
of  night  he  wouldn't  risk  nothin'  heavier  than  a 
hunk  of  pie  or  doughnut. 

But  he  took  to  the  stone  fence  with  quiet  satis 
faction  that  brought  Mr.  Braddock's  hand  up  to 
its  usual  suppressive  work. 

"  That's  pretty  good  cider.  Pop.  I  don't  think 
you've  got  any  just  like  it." 

"  Well,  I  don't  know,"  replied  Mr.  Swarthout. 
"  I  kinda  think  I  recognize  my  south  orchard, 
and  as  fer  the  flavorin',  I  guess  that's  my  ten- 
year-old  stuff." 

"  He  knows  his  own  goods,"  said  John.  "  Mr. 
Braddock  is  not  an  inventor,  he's  only  a  restorer. 
He  brings  things  back  to  their  original  owners. 
He  brought  our  cat  back  after  she'd  been  gone  a 
month,  eh,  mother  P  " 

"Yes,"  said  mother,  "but  I  think  he  might 
have  restored  the  white  toe  on  her  hind  leg  to  the 
front  leg,  where  it  was  before." 

Then  John  looked  quite  stupid  for  a  moment, 
and  Mr.  Braddock  worked  the  back  of  his  hand 
so  hard  that  he  attracted  everybody's  attention. 
When  he  tried  to  change  the  subject  by  asking 
John  if  he  intended  to  plant  some  clem-at-is  vines 
on  his  bay,  the  sharp  voice  of  May  Braddock 
broke  in  on  them  :  — 

"  Clem-a-tis,  Pa." 

But  in  spite  of  everything,  the  little  party  as  it 
grew  informal  grew  more  cheerful.  The  stone 
fence  melted  away  some  of  Pop  Swarthout's  in- 


MAKING   OF   A   COUNTRY   HOME 

durated  prejudices,  and  later  in  the  evening  he 
"  allowed  "  that,  although  he  was  not  much  of  a 
singer,  he  calculated  that  he  could  give  them  a 
stave  of  "  Gayly  the  Troubadour,"  providin'  they 
cared  for  real  music,  and  it  was  with  some  diffi 
culty  that  Mrs.  Swarthout  and  Mr.  Braddock 
suppressed  him  when  the  party  broke  up,  par 
ticularly  as  Mr.  Braddock  had  to  suppress  him 
self.  Pop  said  that  he  didn't  go  heavy  on 
"  Sailin'  over  the  Clover  "  that  time  of  year,  and 
red  clover  was  a  pretty  windy  forage  anyway. 

And  so  Lucy's  endeavour  to  introduce  the  amen 
ities  of  social  life  passed  off,  with  what  to  her 
seemed  to  have  many  ludicrous  failures.  But  it 
had  knit  some  ties  of  which  she  was  not  aware. 
The  sight  of  her  mother's  store  of  preserves  had 
awakened  a  new  respect  in  Mrs.  Swarthout's  breast, 
and  the  two  ladies  established  a  new  reciprocity, 
that  declared  itself  in  their  standing  at  their  re 
spective  stone  walls  when  the  weather  was  fine  and 
shrieking  their  intimacy  across  fields  to  each  other. 

When  the  Christmas  ti  me  approached  the  weather 
came  on  bitter  cold  for  a  week,  and  Lucy  settled 
down  before  her  fire  one  Sunday  morning  with  a 
letter  in  her  hand,  and  looking  from  it  into  the 
blaze  and  then  at  the  bay  window  past  which  the 
flakes  were  scurrying,  she  began  to  experience  some 
of  the  delights  of  a  safe  retreat,  and  the  added 
comfort  of  a  real  mistress  at  her  own  hearthstone. 
She  was  dressed  in  a  warm  wrapper,  and  could  not 
sufficiently  admire  the  manner  in  which  her  wood- 
fire  was  redeeming  its  reputation.  Mart  had  re- 

238 


WINTER'S    WARNINGS 

ported  that  the  thermometer  had  been  down  below 
zero  all  night,  and  the  reaches  of  the  river  were 
frozen  over. 

Presently  John  came  in  slapping  his  hands  and 
looking  quite  ruddy,  for  he  had  been  out  in  the 
wind. 

"  Well,  sweetheart,"  he  said,  "  this  looks  com 
fortable,  and  you  seem  to  be  enjoying  it." 

"  I've  got  a  letter  from  Kate,"  she  said.  "  Let 
me  read  it  to  you." 

"  Fire  away,"  he  said,  "  but  I  don't  believe  it 
will  add  to  our  comfort." 

"  Yes  it  will,"  she  said.     "  Listen  :  — 

"c  MY  DEAR  LUCY:  I  supposed  of  course  that 
you  were  in  the  city  for  the  winter  and  that  I 
should  hear  from  you  sooner  or  later,  but  Wes 
met  John  and  learned  that  you  had  not  come  in. 
What  a  poor  little  lamb  you  are,  aren't  you  ?  I 
suppose  John  told  you  we  are  boarding  now  in 
Washington  Square;  two  rooms  and  no  responsi 
bility.  We  tried  light  housekeeping  in  a  furnished 
flat  after  we  gave  up  the  Cramp  house,  but  it  was 
almost  as  much  bother  as  housekeeping.  Cramp 
turned  out  to  be  no  better  than  he  should  be.  I 
suppose  John  has  told  you  about  him.  He  let 
them  sue  me  for  the  furniture,  and  I  was  up  on 
supplementary  proceedings  just  like  an  actress. 
It  was  real  fun  while  it  lasted,  and  I  got  into  all 
the  papers.  I  don't  know  how  long  we  shall  stay 
here,  for  Wes  wants  to  go  to  a  hotel,  and  I  sup 
pose  that  is  the  only  way  to  live,  anyhow.  One 


MAKING   OF   A   COUNTRY   HOME 

can't  hang  herself  up  in  a  wardrobe  like  last  year's 
frock,  or  bury  herself  before  she  dies  in  the  coun 
try.  I  don't  suppose  you  get  about  much  now  — 
how  are  you,  anyway  ?  Does  John  treat  you  any 
better  than  he  did  ?  If  you  are  coming  down  to 
do  any  shopping  for  Christmas,  let  me  know.  I 
can  put  you  up  to  a  great  trick  in  woollens.  So 
run  in.  Kiss  Harold  for  me. 

" c  Yours, 

"'KATE.'" 

She  laid  the  letter  on  the  little  table  indifferently 
and  looked  in  the  fire.  John  was  disinclined  to 
make  any  comment.  He  perceived  that  Lucy  felt 
that  she  was  slowly  losing  an  old  friend,  and  that 
regrets  would  be  useless.  So  he  stretched  out  his 
legs  and  waived  away  the  whole  matter  by  saying : — 

"  Not  a  pipe  frozen,  my  dear.  I  have  been 
examining  them,  and  there's  eight  inches  of  ice  at 
the  foot  of  the  hill.  Mart  is  going  to  make  an  ice 
house  of  those  boards  that  we  took  off  this  floor." 

"  I  was  thinking,"  said  Lucy,  "  how  lively  and 
festive  the  stores  must  be  in  the  city  now,  as  Christ 
mas  approaches,  and  everybody  is  preparing  for  it. 
One  misses  in  the  country  the  close  contact  of 
humanity  at  such  times." 

"  You  are  thinking  of  cornucopias  and  caramels," 
said  John.  "  I  don't  blame  you.  Perhaps  you 
would  like  to  go  to  a  hotel  for  a  while  and  hug  the 
steam-pipes." 

"Oh,  I  am  comfortable,  John,  very.  I  can  do 
my  hugging  better  here." 

240 


WINTER'S    WARNINGS 

"  Are  you  quite  sure  ?  " 

"  Quite  sure.     Aren't  you  ?  " 

"  Well,  sometimes  I  have  thought  that  the  game 
was  not  worth  the  candle." 

"  You're  afraid  that  when  the  wind  blows  from 
the  northeast,  it  will  blow  the  candle  out.  But  it 
can't  blow  this  fire  out,  John.  The  harder  the 
wind  blows  the  more  defiantly  the  fire  snaps  and 
roars." 

He  got  up,  and  going  to  the  bay  window,  stood 
with  his  back  to  her,  looking  out.  The  wind  was 
driving  the  fine  flakes  almost  horizontally  past. 
The  cedars  were  bending  under  the  pressure. 
Southward  there  were  bleak  stretches  of  whitening 
fields.  It  was  very  still  inside.  He  could  hear 
the  ticking  of  the  clock  in  the  dining  room. 

<c  I  suppose,"  he  said,  <c  the  city  cars  will  all  be 
blocked  to-morrow.  What's  the  matter  with 
Harold  ? " 

"  He  is  rejoicing  over  the  snow-storm,"  said 
Lucy.  "  You  don't  appear  to  see  how  jolly  it  is." 

"  I  was  thinking,"  John  said,  "  that  there  will 
be  three  more  months  of  it." 

"  And  then  ?  "  asked  Lucy. 

"  Then  —  oh,  then,  the  spring  I  suppose.  But 
it's  a  long  stretch." 

Lucy  got  up,  and.  coming  to  the  window,  let 
her  head  drop  on  his  shoulder. 

"  But  John,"  she  said,  "it's  the  home  stretch." 

He  put  his  arm  about  her.  "  Do  you  really 
think  so  ? " 

"  I  am  sure  of  it.  You  are  trying  to  be  blue, 
241 


MAKING   OF   A   COUNTRY   HOME 

and  everything  is  as  pure  and  white  as  a  flag  of 
truce.  I  don't  think  you  ought  to  look  at  the 
snow  if  it  affects  you  that  way.  Listen." 

She  went  to  the  piano,  and  softly  touching  it, 
began  to  hum  the  refrain  of  Holcomb's  song :  — 

"  Sail  round  and  sail  over 
The  red,  red  clover, 

For  Johnny  is  coming  home." 

He  threw  himself  in  a  chair.  "  It's  all  right, 
my  dear,  but  we  have  deprived  ourselves  of  all 
chance  of  doing  any  light  housekeeping  or  taking 
furnished  rooms  or  going  to  a  hotel." 


242 


CHAPTER   XII 


CONCLUSION 

SOME  months  have  elapsed.  The  making 
of  a  country  home  has  been  beset  with  dis 
couragements  and  difficulties.  The  winter 
came  with  its  storms,  and  shut  all  the  improve 
ments  indoors.  Mr.  Ridabok's  hammer  has  not 
ceased  in  all  that  time.  Inch  by  inch  the  inte 
rior  of  the  home  has  assumed  airs  of  comfort  and 
security. 

One  morning  in  late  April  Lucy  Dennison  sat 
before  her  new  fireplace.  Harold  stood  beside 
her.  She  had  a  roll  of  something  in  her  arms. 
The  wood  fire  smouldered,  but  the  sunlight  came 
at  intervals  through  the  bay  window  as  the  spring 
winds  shifted  the  clouds,  occasionally  giving  a 
long-drawn  sigh. 

"  I  know  the  spring  has  come,"  said  Harold, 
"  because  the  skunk  cabbages  are  all  green,  and 
the  robins  are  back,  and  the  maple  sugar  is  come 

243 


MAKING   OF   A   COUNTRY   HOME 

at  the  store,  and  Mart  said  he  was  going  to  plough 
because  the  frost  is  all  out  of  the  ground." 

His  mother  got  up  softly  and  deposited  her 
bundle  on  a  couch  in  the  corner,  pulling  the 
screen  around  to  protect  it  from  possible  draught. 
She  stood  there  looking  at  it  with  meditative 
triumph  when  John  came  in  softly,  and  putting 
his  arm  about  her,  joined  in  the  contemplation. 

"  She  is  going  to  look  like  you,"  he  said. 
"  That  is  some  comfort.  She  seems  to  have 
arrived  with  the  spring.  We  ought  to  call  her 
Violet." 

"  The  violets  haven't  come  yet,"  said  Harold ; 
"  only  the  skunk  cabbages." 

"  Well,  it  has  been  a  long  and  dreary  winter  to 
you,  my  dear,"  said  John. 

"  But  nobody  thinks  of  the  winter  when  spring 
arrives,"  replied  Lucy. 

"  I  hope  we  shall  not  get  any  late  frosts.  I 
suppose  you  have  heard  of  winter  lingering  in  the 
lap  of  spring." 

Lucy  got  up,  and  taking  the  sleeping  bundle 
off  the  couch,  put  it  in  her  husband's  arms. 
"  Let  us  try  and  think  of  spring  lingering  in 
the  lap  of  winter,"  she  said,  —  "and  speak  softly." 

Then  she  poked  the  logs,  and  sitting  down 
again,  said :  "  What  a  lucky  thing  it  was  for 
us  that  I  did  come  back  with  you  when  you 
got  that  telegram  from  Kate  saying  I  was  sick. 
Now  that  I  think  of  it  all,  it  looks  as  if  it  was 
providential  that  I  went  to  the  city  with  Wes 
and  his  wife,  and  tried  to  be  as  gay  as  I  could." 

244 


CONCLUSION 

John  was  walking  up  and  down  with  his  bundle. 
"  I  thought  at  the  time/'  he  said,  "  that  it  would 
have  been  more  providential  to  have  stayed  home 
and  helped  me  out." 

"  I  didn't  know  enough,  John.  You  have 
always  given  me  credit  for  knowing  a  great  deal 
more  than  I  really  do.  I  had  to  learn  a  very 
important  lesson." 

John  put  the  baby  back  on  the  couch,  and  said 
carelessly :  "  Well,  if  you  learned  it,  it's  all  right. 
Don't  let's  talk  about  it.  We  have  both  learned 
a  good  many  lessons,  and  I  think  we've  won  our 
fight.  At  all  events  we  have  got  a  home  over 
our  heads,  and  you  are  not  only  the  mother  of  a 
family,  but  the  mistress  of  the  best  house  on  this 
road,  if  Ridabok  and  I  do  say  it." 

"  But,  John,  I  never  could  have  appreciated  it 
if  I  had  not  learned  what  it  was  to  be  without  a 
home,  and  Kate  Ellis  never  ceased  to  instil  that 
lesson  into  me.  I  discovered  that  there  are  some 
women  who  are  incapable  of  understanding  what 
a  home  means.  We  all  get  the  credit  of  being 
born  domestic.  But  the  best  of  us,  I  guess,  have 
to  learn  it  like  our  other  lessons.  I  must  have 
been  a  dreadfully  giddy  thing  when  you  first 
married  me." 

"Oh,  but  think  of  me.  What  a  dull,  mechan 
ical,  methodical  chump  I  must  have  been  to  a 
lively  girl." 

"  So  you  were,  but  it  is  that  has  saved  us." 

"  I  think  you  are  giving  me  too  much  credit. 
The  rest  of  the  family  is  entitled  to  some  of  it  — 

24S 


MAKING   OF   A   COUNTRY   HOME 

that  bundle,  for  example,"  and  he  pointed  to  the 
couch.  "  I  knew  you  would  come  out  all  right 
if  you  stayed  with  Kate  long  enough.  Almost 
anybody  would  unless  he  married  her." 

"  Poor  Kate,"  said  Lucy.  "  She  is  living  in 
furnished  apartments  now." 

"And  her  husband  is  travelling  all  the  time," 
added  John.  "  He  has  got  to  be  a  second-class 
drummer." 

"  He  isn't  travelling  now.  He  is  home  and 
sick." 

"  Oh,  you  have  heard  from  them  ?  " 

"  Indirectly.  Sprague  got  a  letter  from  Hoi- 
comb.  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  they  were  hard  up." 

"  No,"  said  John,  carelessly,  as  he  went  to  the 
window  and  looked  out,  "  I  don't  think  anybody 
would  wonder  at  that  who  knew  them." 

"John,  I  have  a  great  mind  to  ask  them  up 
on  a  visit.  I  thought  that  as  Kate  taught  me  a 
lesson,  I  might  teach  her  one." 

"  Don't,"  said  John.  "  She  doesn't  like  chil 
dren,  and  it  would  only  interfere  with  the  work." 

"  But  the  work  is  all  done.  The  bathroom  is 
finished,  isn't  it  ?  " 

"Yes  —  finished  this  morning." 

"  And  the  wainscoting  in  the  new  dining  room 
is  dry  ?  " 

"  Dry  as  a  bone,"  said  John. 

"Well,  then,  we  ought  to  have  dinner  in  it, 
and  show  it  off.  You  are  the  strangest  man  I 
ever  saw.  You  go  on  working  day  after  day,  and 
finishing  up  everything  in  fine  style,  and  never 

246 


CONCLUSION 

want  to  show  it  off.  I  have  never  entertained 
Kate  properly  in  my  life.  I  should  just  like  to 
know  what  she  would  say  to  that  cherub." 

"  I  know  what  she  will  say.  She  will  chuck  it 
under  the  chin  and  say  it  looks  like  me,  which  is 
a  lie,  and  then  she  will  ask  you  if  you  have  any 
ice." 

"  And  I  will  have  it  —  from  our  own  ice-house, 
and  I  will  heap  it  on  her  head  as  if  it  were  coals 
of  fire.  Just  think  how  Tilka  will  look  in  a  white 
cap  and  apron  —  waiting.  I'm  just  dying  to  say, 
c  Tilka,  you  may  bring  from  the  cellar  a  bottle  of 
that  old  Burgundy ;  I  think  Mrs.  Ellis  prefers 
Burgundy/  We  can  have  a  bottle  of  old  Bur 
gundy  in  the  cellar,  John,  can't  we  ?  " 

"  Of  course  we  can,  if  your  mother  has  left  any 
room  in  the  cellar." 

"  Then,  John,  what  can  be  more  withering  if 
the  weather  is  fine  than  to  say,  c  My  dear,  we  are 
in  the  habit  of  driving  in  the  afternoons.  Do  you 
care  to  have  the  team  up  ? '  I  just  want  to  avail 
myself  of  my  privileges  and  ask  Kate  how  the  gas 
collector  is  and  the  janitor,  and  if  the  man  on  the 
floor  below  plays  the  cornet  yet,  and  find  out  if 
the  restaurant  bills  are  as  big  as  ever." 

"  My  dear,  you  wish  to  exercise  your  fiendish 
propensity  to  triumph  over  the  unfortunate." 

"  But  she  said  that  I  would  get  sick  of  it  before 
the  winter  was  over,  and  that  you  were  making  a 
dairy  maid  of  me.  It's  only  justice  to  you  to 
have  her  up.  I  really  want  her  to  meet  Mrs. 
Swarthout." 

247 


MAKING   OF   A   COUNTRY   HOME 

"  Perhaps  Mrs.  Swarthout  would  like  to  take 
her  to  board  —  then  you  could  run  over  and  see 
her  without  having  your  pillow-slips  all  burned  by 
cigarettes." 

Notwithstanding  this  conversation  Lucy  did  not 
invite  her  old  friend.  The  truth  is  that  both  John 
and  his  wife  were  so  occupied  with  their  growing 
possessions  that  they  forgot  all  about  their  former 
acquaintances  who  were  now  moving  in  a  world  as 
far  as  possible  from  the  practical  round  of  country 
experiences.  But  it  so  happened  that  without  any 
intention  on  the  part  of  the  Dennisons,  the  old 
friends  came  together  once  more  for  the  last  time, 
and  the  meeting  resulted  in  a  way  that  none  of 
them  could  have  anticipated,  and  only  served  to 
show  that  it  is  character  that  makes  environment, 
and  not  as  so  many  of  us  suppose,  environment 
that  makes  character. 

Late  in  the  summer  Sprague  and  May  Brad- 
dock  were  married,  and  John  had  been  the  best 
man,  Holcomb  being  somewhere  in  the  West  with 
a  comic  opera  company.  It  was  a  very  quiet  affair 
in  the  village  church,  Mr.  Braddock  giving  away 
the  bride  with  the  back  of  his  hand  to  his  mouth 
to  suppress  his  sense  of  humour,  and  then  the 
couple  went  off  somewhere  for  a  fortnight.  While 
they  were  gone  John  obtained  an  option  from  Pop 
Swarthout  on  five  adjoining  acres  for  a  thousand 
dollars,  and  when  Sprague  came  back  full  of  a 
building  scheme  and  desiring  to  put  up  a  house 
next  to  his  friend,  John  sold  him  the  piece  of 
land  for  fifteen  hundred  dollars.  Afterwards,  when 

248 


CONCLUSION 

John  paid  off  his  mortgage  with  the  profit,  Pop 
Swarthout  put  his  hand  on  his  shoulder  and 
said :  — 

"  Young  man,  I  don't  often  miss  my  calkerla- 
tions,  but  when  I  do  I  don't  hesitate  to  own  up. 
You  fooled  me.  I  figgered  you  was  like  the  rest 
of  'em  and  was  goin'  off  half  cocked.  I  guess  I 
was  a  dumgormed  old  turtle,  but  you  ken  hev  any 
ten  acres  I've  get  for  the  same  figger.  I  say  that 
to  show  my  respect  for  your  business  talents." 

It  was  Sprague,  however,  who  alone  brought  to 
the  estimation  of  John's  work  an  artist's  keen 
relish.  He  invariably  looked  upon  the  improve 
ment  as  if  it  were  the  painting  of  a  picture,  and 
was  never  tired  of  telling  his  wife  what  an  extraor 
dinary  fellow  John  was  in  his  plodding  way. 
"  Look  at  that  front  garden  of  his,"  he  would  say. 
"  It  is  really  the  prettiest  plot  on  the  road.  Stran 
gers  ask  whose  French  villa  that  is  in  the  Italian 
garden,  and  there  isn't  a  French  or  Italian  thing 
about  it.  Everything  in  his  garden  he  and  his 
wife  picked  up  in  the  woods.  Instead  of  buying 
exotics,  he  just  took  the  wild  azaleas,  the  bitter 
sweet,  the  clematis,  and  the  sweet  brier,  and  stuck 
those  cedars  and  white  birches  in  by  instinct.  He 
makes  me  ashamed  of  my  profession  when  I  look 
at  his  lawns,  and  I  always  want  to  go  in  and  roll 
under  his  trees.  And  the  beauty  of  it  all  is  that 
the  thing  keeps  slowly  growing  without  any  anx 
iety  or  clatter  or  parade.  Now  he  is  going  to 
build  an  addition  out  of  the  rest  of  his  stone 
fence  —  library  and  billiard  room,  I  believe." 

249 


MAKING   OF  A   COUNTRY   HOME 

John  was  in  the  habit  of  speaking  lightly  of  his 
achievements.  "There  was  considerably  more 
luck  than  genius  about  it,"  he  said  to  Sprague. 
"  I  stumbled  on  the  right  kind  of  a  woman  to 
begin  with." 

"  Stumbled  is  lovely,"  said  Sprague.  "  Did  it 
ever  occur  to  you  that  she  stumbled,  too  ? " 

"Then,  I  stumbled  on  good  servants,"  con 
tinued  John.  "  In  nine  cases  out  of  ten  it's  the 
servants  that  play  the  deuce  with  country  living. 
Having  got  my  hand  in  as  it  were,  I  then  stum 
bled  over  an  exceptionally  docile  carpenter,  who 
could  wait  a  week  or  two  for  his  wages  if  I  was 
pinched,  and  finally  I  stumbled  on  two  or  three 
stanch  friends  up  here  that  played  the  band  for 
me  while  I  worked." 

Sprague  said  this  would  not  do.  "  I've  been 
studying  this  thing,"  he  said,  "  and  I've  seen  sev 
eral  city  folks  come  up  here  with  good  servants 
and  good  workmen  and  good  friends,  and  they 
generally  made  a  botch  of  it  in  a  year  or  two. 
Heaps  of  money  sunk  in  landscape  gardening, 
hot-houses,  city  servants,  equipages,  fancy  fowls 
and  dog  kennels,  roadsters,  and  a  general  attempt 
to  bring  the  city  into  the  country.  At  the  end 
of  a  year  they  complained  of  miasm,  mosquitoes, 
and  bad  soil,  and  dearth  of  society.  Then  they 
sold  out  at  a  sacrifice,  and  hurried  back  where 
there  was  Opera  or  electric  cars.  It's  the  old 
story,  Dennison,  there's  no  art  or  satisfaction  in 
Nature,  —  you  have  to  bring  those  things  with 
you,  and  most  of  the  people  who  try  the  rustic 

250 


CONCLUSION 

business  ought  to  stay  in  the  suburbs,  where  they 
can  keep  one  hand  on  the  telephone  and  the  other 
on  an  intelligence  office." 

"The  fact  is,  Sprague,  I  didn't  have  money 
enough  to  make  any  mistakes  with.  That  was 
another  piece  of  luck.  And  —  I  was  stubborn 
enough  to  believe  in  myself.  You  are  about  the 
only  man  who  could  see  what  I  intended  to  do 
before  I  did  it,  and  I  haven't  done  anything  that 
any  plodder  cannot  do.  The  real  reason  why 
more  men  do  not  do  it  is  not  because  they  are 
not  able,  but  because  they  are  not  willing.  They 
don't  like  the  life.  Now,  it  occurs  to  me  that 
you  and  I  ought  to  make  our  own  society.  We 
shall  get  two  or  three  more  of  our  own  kind  around 
us  in  time,  and  that  will  be  all  the  society  we 


want." 


"  You  knew  how  to  go  to  work." 

"  Well,  you  would  think  that  any  man  of  good 
sense  would  know  how  —  but  he  doesn't.  I  can 
sell  my  house  for  five  thousand  dollars.  It's 
insured  for  that.  I'll  tell  you  why.  It's  the  only 
house  on  this  road  of  moderate  price  that  has  a 
complete  water  system.  Visitors  are  amazed  to 
find  hot  and  cold  water  faucets  in  my  bathroom 
and  a  proper  system  of  drainage.  But  it's  the 
simplest  thing  in  the  world  when  you  have  a  res 
ervoir.  Enterprise  is  far  more  bewildering  to  these 
people  than  capital.  They  are  all  small  capitalists, 
and  they  seem  to  think  they  never  would  be  if 
they  displayed  any  enterprise.  Look  at  that  high 
way.  It  ought  to  be  macadamized.  It  would 

251 


MAKING  OF  A   COUNTRY  HOME 

improve  the  property  immensely.  Do  you  know 
what  it  would  cost  the  township  to  grade  it  up  and 
gravel  it  for  two  miles  ?  " 

"  More  than  the  township  will  pay." 

"  I  think  I  would  take  the  contract  for  five 
thousand  dollars.  I  can  buy  a  stone  crusher  for 
fifteen  hundred,  and  I'd  put  .three  men  at  it  for  a 
year." 

"  We'll  have  to  make  you  supervisor  of  the 
county,"  said  Sprague. 

But  John  was  not  ambitious,  and  he  said  he 
didn't  aim  at  anything  higher  than  roadmaster. 

Perhaps  Lucy  would  not  have  known  how  far 
she  had  drifted  from  her  former  city  habits  and 
tastes  if  it  had  not  been  for  her  unexpected  meet 
ing  with  Kate  Ellis.  In  obedience  to  the  doctor's 
advice  to  take  Wes  away  from  the  city  and  his 
acquaintances  for  a  month  or  two,  and  after  find 
ing  that  her  resources  were  insufficient  to  pay  the 
bills,  Kate  consulted  with  Holcomb,  and  that  chip 
per  young  gentleman  immediately  said  :  "  What's 
the  matter  with  your  old  friends  —  the  Dennisons  ? 
Is  there  anybody  farther  from  the  madding  crowd 
than  they  are  ?  Is  there  anybody  that  needs  the 
freshening  and  joyousness  of  your  presence  as  they 
do?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Kate,  "  it's  all  very  well  for  me,  but 
consider  Wes." 

"  You  write  and  ask  her  if  she  knows  of  a  good 
quiet  desolate  farmhouse,  and  —  a  box  of  gloves 
she'll  invite  you  up.  If  you  say  so,  I'll  go  up 
myself  and  fix  it.  Sprague  must  be  aching  for  me 

252 


CONCLUSION 

by  this  time.  Do  you  remember  how  Dennison's 
wife  used  to  sing  my  songs  ?  " 

"  She  has  two  children  now,"  said  Kate. 

This  sounded  as  if  it  were  final  with  respect 
to  Lucy's  music.  But  the  upshot  of  it  was  that 
Holcomb  went  off  to  the  country  to  reconnoitre, 
and  having  reported  that  everything  was  all  right, 
Kate  herself  went  up  to  make  a  call  on  Lucy 
Dennison. 

The  instant  the  women  came  together,  it  was 
plain  to  both  of  them  that  conventional  endear 
ments  could  not  quite  bridge  the  gap  that  had 
grown  between  them.  But  this  fact  only  made 
them  dispense  the  endearments  more  recklessly. 
Kate  kissed  her  old  friend  and  called  her  dear,  but 
she  was  conscious  of  a  little  effort  in  it.  Lucy 
thought  for  the  first  time  that  Kate  was  too  pro 
nouncedly  dressed.  The  flaring  hat  seemed  slightly 
boisterous,  and  she  thought  Kate  might  have  wiped 
some  of  the  powder  off  her  face. 

On  the  other  hand,  Kate  noticed  a  sober, 
matronly  air  in  her  former  associate  that  she 
thought  was  meant  to  be  slightly  superior. 

"  I  am  so  glad  I  found  you,"  she  said.  cc  Wes 
and  I  are  looking  for  a  quiet  rural  home  where 
we  can  rest  for  a  few  days.  He  is  mentally  run 
down,  and  the  doctor  says  he  must  not  think  for 
a  month." 

"  How  nice,"  replied  Lucy.  "  I  shouldn't 
wonder  if  Farmer  Van  Kleek's  over  on  the 
Nyack  pike  would  just  suit  you.  He  is  three 
miles  from  the  nearest  house,  and  that's  a  tan- 


MAKING   OF  A   COUNTRY   HOME 

nery.  If  I  were  you,  I'd  write  and  inquire 
about  it." 

This  friendly  interest  stirred  something  in  Kate 
very  like  viciousness,  but  she  did  not  betray  it. 

"  How  nicely  you  are  fixed,"  she  said.  c<  Is 
this  the  same  house  that  I  came  to  see  you  in 
before  ?  What  have  you  done  to  it  ?  " 

"  Finished  it,"  replied  Lucy.  "  If  you'll  stay 
to  lunch,  I'll  tell  Tilka  to  get  you  up  something. 
It's  too  bad,  but  Mrs.  Sprague  and  I  are  going 
to  the  County  Fair  at  one  o'clock,  and  I  can't 
get  out  of  it.  You  know  we  are  exhibiting  there." 

"I'll  just  write  that  name  of  the  farmer  down," 
said  Kate.  "What  did  you  say  it  was  —  Van 
Kleek  —  on  the  what?  " 

"  On  the  Nyack  pike." 

"  What's  the  pike  ?  —  a  river,  I  suppose  —  I  like 
rivers,  and  pike  makes  an  excellent  dish  served 
with  mayonnaise." 

"  Dear  me,  no.  It's  the  road  —  the  turnpike. 
Then  you  will  not  stay  ?  " 

"  To  lunch  ?  Oh,  no,  I  can't.  I  just  wanted 
to  take  a  look  at  you.  How  you  have  changed  !  " 

"  Yes,  it's  dreadful.  I'm  getting  so  stout. 
But  you  keep  your  figure  beautifully.  Shall  I 
show  you  the  house  ?  —  you'll  be  delighted  with 
our  salon  dining  room.  It  will  seat  twenty 
people  at  table." 

"  You  don't  know  of  anybody  nearer  than  the 
pike,  do  you,  who  would  accommodate  us  ? " 

"  I  can  make  inquiries  for  you.  What  is  your 
city  address  ? " 

254 


CONCLUSION 

Kate  got  up,  walked  to  the  window,  and  bit 
her  lip.  What  was  it  had  given  this  salesman's 
wife  such  a  complacent  air  of  independence  ? 
Kate  was  piqued,  and  was  coming  perilously 
near  to  retaliation.  So  she  smiled,  and  looked 
unusually  amiable  as  she  said :  — 

"  I  suppose  you  have  your  hands  full.  What 
with  churning  and  weeding  and  nursing,  you  don't 
get  much  time  for  social  duties/' 

Lucy  smiled  with  an  equal  amiability.  "  That's 
just  it,  dear,"  she  said.  "  If  it  wasn't  for  people 
coming  in  all  the  time  unexpectedly,  I'd  get  a 
great  deal  more  done.  Let  me  show  you  the 
baby  before  you  go." 

As  Kate  took  the  prize  Dennison  bundle  in 
her  arms,  and  patted  its  cheek  with  her  gloved 
hands,  she  said  :  "  What  a  little  beauty !  Where 
are  the  other  children  ?  Oh,  they  are  working,  I 
suppose  —  and  you,  you  little  busy  bee,"  —  tap 
ping  the  bundle  with  her  finger,  —  "I  suppose 
you  are  going  to  learn  how  to  make  butter  and 
apple  sauce  and  rag  carpet." 

"There's  only  one  other,"  said  Lucy  —  "Har 
old.  I  think  we'll  send  this  one  to  Bryn  Mawr." 

"And  Harold  —  he  will  go  to  West  Point,  I 
suppose." 

"  Harold  is  to  be  a  civil  engineer  —  he  is  to  be 
educated  for  it,  his  father  says." 

"  How  sweet.  I  wish  there  was  a  school  where 
our  sex  could  be  educated  to  be  civil  somethings, 
don't  you  ? " 

"  Yes,  dear,  but  it's  so  much  harder  to  educate 


MAKING   OF   A   COUNTRY   HOME 

our  sex.     They  never  take  things  seriously  until 
they  have  a  family." 

"  And  that  doesn't  always  make  our  sex  as 
considerate  as  it  ought  to  be." 

"  It  will  be  too  bad  if  you  do  not  find  the  quiet 
place  you  are  in  search  of,"  said  Lucy. 

"  My  dear,"  Kate  retorted,  "  you  know  very 
well  that  I  detest  quiet.  It  is  on  Wesley's  ac 
count  that  I  am  anxious.  I  think  a  month  up 
here  would  kill  me.  It's  all  very  beautiful,  but 
I  must  have  my  bath,  you  know,  and  telephone, 
and  I  never  could  eat  country  fare.  Besides, 
dear,  I've  always  held  that  country  life  narrows 
the  taste,  and  is  apt  to  make  one  illiberal  —  don't 
you  find  it  so  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  it  does,"  Lucy  replied,  "  but 
it  doesn't  narrow  one's  person  —  that's  the  worst 
of  it.  If  one  is  to  keep  her  figure,  I  suppose  it  is 
absolutely  necessary  to  have  worries  and  uncertain 
ties  and  disappointments.  Sometimes  I  feel  that  I 
shall  get  horribly  fat  just  because  there  aren't  any." 

"  But,  my  dear,  if  you  do  get  preposterously 
fleshy,  you  can  exhibit  yourself  at  the  County 
Fair.  They  offer  prizes,  don't  they,  for  such 
things  ?  —  but  perhaps  it's  only  pigs,  not  persons. 
I  don't  know  much  about  it.  I  used  to  read 
about  it  when  I  was  a  girl.  Good  people  in  the 
country  always  died  in  a  pot  of  grease  —  or  per 
haps  it  was  butter." 

"Yes,  indeed.  We  thought  those  were  fairy 
tales,  but  the  people  up  here  are  doing  it  yet. 
It's  all  true." 

256 


CONCLUSION 

"Have  you  seen  Holcomb  lately?"  asked 
Kate. 

"  No.  He  was  up  here  and  called,  but  I  did 
not  see  him.  I  was  just  going  out  to  drive  with 
the  children  and  Mrs.  Swarthout,  and  he  would 
have  been  very  apt  to  sing  one  of  his  songs  before 
the  children." 

"  Heavens,"  said  Kate,  "  what  a  narrow  escape 
for  the  darlings  !  " 

When  Kate  returned  to  the  city,  she  left  her 
amiability  in  instalments  at  every  station  she 
passed,  and  when  she  reached  Wes,  she  was  in 
an  undisguised  state  of  indignation. 

"  They  have  grown  to  be  a  set  of  rustic  prigs," 
she  said.  "  Don't  talk  to  me  any  more  about 
the  Dennisons.  Lucy  has  got  to  be  as  unbear 
able  as  her  husband,  but  I  can  tell  you  one  thing, 
she  has  got  a  home  over  her  head  —  which  I 
haven't,  and  I  suppose  she  is  entitled  to  be  stuck 
up.  I  guess  we  will  have  to  go  our  own  gait  — 
it  isn't  theirs." 

"  Well,  my  dear,  it  has  been  a  pretty  frisky  gait 
—  what  we've  had  of  it." 

"  And  what  have  we  got  to  show  for  it? " 

"  Oh,  say,  you've  been  struck  by  the  land 
scheme." 

"  No,  I  haven't.  I've  been  struck  by  a  woman 
who  has  her  own  home,  and  is  too  independent 
to  be  bearable." 

"And  if  you  had  a  home,  you'd  pawn  it  the 
first  rainy  day.  But  if  you  think  we  ought  to  go 
in  for  reality  —  what's  the  matter  with  buying  a 

257 


MAKING   OF   A   COUNTRY   HOME 

nice  sunny  plot  at  Greenwood  Cemetery  ?  I  don't 
believe  they  will  let  us  keep  a  cow  there,  but  we 
might  compromise  on  a  goat,  and,  anyway,  you 
can  plant  flowers  and  things,  and  always  feel  that 
you've  got  something  snug." 

After  this  the  Dennisons  and  the  Ellises  never 
again  met.  John  did  hear  that  Wesley  said  of 
him  that  he  was  a  wasted  hayseed.  That  rather 
pleased  John,  and  occasionally  when  he  went  to 
the  Astor  House  Rotunda,  he  put  a  wisp  of 
timothy  in  his  mouth,  and  rather  ostentatiously 
dumgormed  the  oyster  pate  if  it  didn't  suit  him. 

But  Sprague  and  a  few  other  persons  got  to 
calling  him  Supervisor,  and  whether  that  is  an 
official  title  or  only  another  of  the  rural  pleasant 
ries,  I  am  blessed  if  I  know. 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below, 
or  on  the  date  to  which  renewed.  Renewals  only: 

Tel.  No.  642-3405 

Renewals  may  be  made  4  days  prior  to  date  due. 
Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


\                      -I  p       -  •"  "•'* 

/                           'IL~ 

/ 

t; 

\ 

\ 

LD21A-40m-3,'72 
^             (Qll78SlO)476-A-82 

General  Library 
University  of  California 
Berkeley 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CAUFORNIA  LIBRARY 


